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

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

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

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

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

Compulsory Begging for Comments:

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

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

My complete listing of texts is at

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yrba’s Travels, Pt.12 — Eruption

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)

First draft done July 2008

This version: December 2009

Spellchecked: by computer.

Proof-reading: You guessed it, eh? I re-read it myself, again. Sorry. Wanted to get this final installment of the series out by the end of December. Ho Ho Ho and all that Christmas spirit etc. etc. So you’ll have to kindly ignore grammar goofs and gaffes which I may have overlooked. At least there shouldn’t be any "wether/whether" left in this text, but I’m sure there’s still the odd word every now and then. Deal with it :)

--

Obscure musical reference:

"We have come too far / and we’ve got the scars / and we are never going back into the shadows again" — Melissa Etheridge, Giant

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…

Part 11 — Oil to the Flames:

The distractions of her palace life get the better of Mirca, and almost end in disaster when her explosive growth kicks in at the worst possible time. Lucky for her, Yrba is around to stem the lactic tide. Incapacitated and wounded by the strain, the gypsy comes to rely on her own personal chambermaid and repays the girl’s services with the very special ones that only a witch versed in body alteration can provide.

Mirca’s envy about this is the final straw on the back of their teetering relationship. Yrba leaves — for good?

Chapter 62: Think BIG

The huge throne room of Ebron’s double-domed palace was deserted, except for the queen on her divan and the man behind her. He coughed politely before he addressed her, whispering in her ear.

"You know, we need to stockpile food for the winter?"

Mirca nodded. She snuggled her back against Carwon, her vizier and former secret lover who had just recently been promoted to official husband. The strain on the root of her breasts increased ever so slightly as she inched away from the gigantic pair of blobs of milk-white skin, each two yards across, perched on two movable, fur- and silk-lined tables in front of her. He kissed her shoulder and ran his fingertips over her naked seven-feet shape that dwarfed his skinny frame, tracing her muscled hourglass shape that had not changed at all through the months of her knockers’ slow expansion.

"And you know food goes bad after a while?"

Another nod from the giantess. Yes, she knew far too well. Her years as a demure serf had taught her, even though a loaf of bread started to move, it was still food enough to give it to servants. The memory sent a chill down her spine.

"So then — Mirca, please don’t laugh, but I’ve got this idea —," Carwon hesitated and kissed her again. "It’s just a weird idea. But ever since I saw you grow, I — I’ll tell you, and you tell me if you think it’s too freaky."

She chuckled. "Carwon! What are you up to now? Come on, out with it. Don’t worry, I won’t swell up in anger again. Your potion works wonders, you know."

He was glad that she couldn’t see his face as he remembered his talk with Yrba about just that topic. Clearing his throat, he muttered:

"All right, then — do you think you could hoard enough milk for the whole shire?"

He looked at her, at her stunned expression as she strained her neck to stare him in the eyes, and he started gnawing on his lips.

"Forget it, Mirca. It was just a stupid idea. I mean, it’s just because your milk never goes bad, with all that magical strength in your body, but —"

"Why not? Let’s give it a try. I’ve always felt this hunger, like there’s something missing in me all the time. When do we start?"

She giggled and rubbed the skin of her breasts as far as she could reach — which wasn’t too far by now. "You heard that, me darlings? I’ll stuff the pair of you until you are big enough to feed my whole shire!"

Mirca shuddered in anticipation. The idea alone, just imagining the sight … growing, bigger and bigger and bigger, her breasts finally rising over the low mountains like twin sisters to the pale moon, bloated orbs filled with milk, heavy and full, and feeding thousands with an endless stream of cream pouring from nipples like huge boulders; the white, thick liquid foaming and raining down from her breasts in a neverending waterfall of nurture —

"Carwon," she purred as her fingers wandered blindly down his loins, "Your goddess needs your services, and fast!" 

Mirca eyed the row of tables covered in empty plates, and the chain of servants emerging from the kitchen. The handmaidens grabbed the movable tables under the queen’s breasts and rolled them to her sides, spreading her cleavage wide enough for the waitresses to bring the overflowing plates within Mirca’s reach. 

"More? Oh Cawwy-darling, I’m stuffed already. Let’s call it a day."

He stepped in front of her and stroked the walls of her taut cleavage that rose almost to his head. The maids let go of the perches and the tables rolled back by a few feet, just far enough for the pliable volume of Mirca’s breasts that bulged over the rim to envelope his body and squeeze him closer to Mirca’s chest. 

Carwon leaned in and whispered, "Dear, the whole shire has offered half of their food to you because they’re so proud of you. They want you to grow even bigger, to stock up more for the winter. You don’t want to disappoint them, do you?"

She looked down on him, in the way of a trusting sheep.

"Oh all right then, I —"

Her stomach growled, and she raised her eyebrows. "Well, that was fast. Oh yes, I think now I could use another snack." She beckoned the maids closer. The tables’ wheels squeaked again, and the warm pressure on the vizier’s body disappeared. 

"Already?" Carwon scratched his head. "Goodness, sweetie, I need to talk with the cooks first, maybe they can find something more substantial than —"

Mirca gave him the look. He hastened to raise his hands in defense. "I’ll talk to them right away. And after that—"

She leaned in to him, hooked her forefinger into the neckline of his toga, pulled him closer and whispered, "After that, we’ll send the maids away and I’ll wash down the dinner with a quick sip from your delicious rod. Of course. That dessert’s really the best part. Oh Carwon, how do you manage to get it up again every time? I surely must be sucking you dry in the long run."

She smiled, lowered her head without letting him out of her stare and slowly licked her lips. Her eyes sparkled hungrily in the shadows of her face. "You’ll have to be careful around my mouth, little sweetheart. I might swallow you neck and crop by accident."

Carwon’s hand grabbed and squeezed her round, firm buttocks through the thin veils of silk tied around her still tapering waist. "Oh, I’m willing to risk that," he replied and smiled up at her, a little piece of driftwood lost in a sea of breasts. "I live only to please my goddess."

Chapter 63: Return Of The Return Of The Witch

Many months passed until Yrba’s travels brought her near Ebron’s capital again. She pulled the reins and halted her cart at the crossroads. Ebron, two hours by horse, said the sign. The tall, shapely Darkskin witch climbed from her caravan’s box and stretched her toned legs while her horse lowered its head and started gnawing at the bushes by the side of the dirt road. Pressing her hands against the small of her back and her narrow waist, Yrba tensed her calves, rose to her toetips and arched her body.

Nnngh—oops! Dammit!

She jerked and bent forward, grabbing her massive breasts that had just spilled from her tight, black-and-red bodice. Yrba glanced around while she quickly stuffed the soft, melon-sized volume back into her straining dress. Rolling her shoulders and loosing her stiff neck muscles, she turned to the road sign and stood in front of it, in a wide-legged stance with slanted hips and her arms akimbo.

She chewed some more on the stalk of milkmaid’s friend in her mouth and finally crossed her arms over her chest, only to lift her right hand to tap her thumb against her pouted lips moments later.

Should I visit her? What’s she been up to? Grown even bigger? Dammit, the curiosity is killing me. Then again, things didn’t go down well at all the last time. And if I show up — no. It’ll only upset her. Leave it be, stupid old crone. She wants to be a cow, let her be a cow. It’s her big gig. 

Yrba lowered her head and put her hands to her hips, turning away from the sign.

I don’t care anymore.

It was a lie, and she knew it.

Yrba spit out the stalk and pulled a fresh one from her pouch. Once again, her wagon clattered along the cobbled street that wound its way in serpentines through the town, leading up to the palace. She looked around, worried by a vague feeling of dread. Something wasn’t right. And yet, there were children sitting by the side of the street. Through open windows, she saw women doing their laundry. Perfectly ordinary things, nothing she hadn’t seen in another hundred towns on another hundred days. But, somehow, something felt wrong. It felt —

Then realization hit her. The children were sitting, not playing. And it was almost noon, yet the women weren’t cooking. And the shops were empty. The men even hungrily eyed her horse.

She poked around, a little question here and there. She didn’t like the answers, not at all.

A tavern? None, not in this town, not any more. All closed.

Provisions? No, neither for money nor barter. Just the rationed crocks with milk, every other day, at the palace gate.

What happened? Nothing had happened. Why? Was there anything wrong? Life was great. No better place to live than here.

No one was up in arms about the lack of food. Wherever she looked, wherever she listened: Nothing but praise for Carwon. Yes, getting only halved rations of milk was bad. As was the duty to deliver all of the food to the palace. But that was the way it was right now. He sure had good reasons for that. Nothing to do about it. Such a clever guy, so young and bearing all that responsibility so well. And our queen, what an incredible goddess, so full-breasted. Amazing. You sure get around a lot, traveller, but have you gazed in wonder at the statue of our queen yet? It’s right over there, go ahead, looking is free.

Yrba stared slack-jawed at the towering sculpture and hoped desperately that it was artistic license and not to scale. She had to circle it a few times and then look really hard to finally find the tiny figure glued in between a pair of giant marble spheres.

"Yrba!"

The witch jerked in her cart’s seat, spun around and looked down into the eyes of the woman who had called out to her. She gasped in surprise. The face, yes, the features seemed vaguely familiar. But the sunken-in eyes, the haggard look — All the gods and demons! This is madness! What’s going on here?

"Bara, no, Byra, no, wait, Brunhilda? — You’re one of the maids from the palace, right?"

The young woman cast nervous glances around, but none of the passers-by showed anything but fleeting interest in them. She spoke quickly, almost under her breath, not looking Yrba in the eye.

"Not anymore. Few girls left in the temple these days. Mercenaries instead. And it’s 'Brina'. Don’t drive up to the palace. Don’t! They’ll be waiting for you for sure."

"Who are 'they'?"

"The new guards." Her eyes kept on wandering left and right, and she swayed a little, steadying herself with one hand on the caravan’s corner. "Hurry, follow me. My father’s got a little barn, next street to the right. You can hide your wagon in there. I’ve got something you need to see."

Brina shut the barn door. She had just barely put the latch back when she stumbled and keeled over. Yrba jumped to her side and propped her up. The witch’s fingers felt bones with little more than skin over them. 

Heavens! She’s just a twig!

"Brina! Brina, do you hear me?"

She rested the delirious girl’s head on her chest and screamed, in more surprise than pain, when weak jaws dug into her breast as it bulged over her neckline.

"Ye-ouch! Brina! What are you doing?"

"Hunger — food —," mumbled the limp girl, snapping weakly at the nipple’s bump showing through the witch’s clothes.

With a sigh, Yrba pulled down the hem of her bodice.

"Seems I’ve missed my true calling," she moaned as her plump nipple disappeared into Brina’s hungry mouth and her breast’s glands woke with a shudder to spend their pent-up stock of sweet nectar.

Half an hour later, Brina woke from a sleep that had little to do with her weakness and all with a few herbal tricks which Yrba had played on her. The former palace maid felt refreshed and stronger and struggled to her feet.

"Don’t overdo it, girl," cautioned the witch, watching her with crossed arms while leaning against her caravan. "This is borrowed strength, you’ll need to lay down again pretty soon. You need food to really get better. So hurry, what is it that you wanted to show to me?"

Brina dug her arm up to her shoulder into a crack between the wall and the heavy table littered with tools. She pulled a leather-bound tome from the cache and brushed dirt and dust from the envelope before she handed it to Yrba.

"This. I can’t read much of it, but what little I understood, it scares me to death. I’ve found it one night in the palace kitchen. I—I took it because I thought maybe there’s a spell in there to improve my cooking, but — just look at it."

Yrba thumbed through the yellowed and wrinkled pages. Every now and then, she narrowed her eyes or shook her head.

Brina looked over the witch’s shoulder.

"That’s bad stuff, right?"

The gypsy snorted and cocked her head.

"Bad? You’ve got no idea. Do you know what this is? Do you know how old it is? And do you know how many real witches and wizards there are? Precious few. I’ve done a lot of traveling, and in all the years, I’ve met but two others like me. Oh, I’ve seen my share of wannabes, no doubt about that! Sometimes, I even had to clean up after them. I know why I stay away from the difficult spells. Spells like these."

Yrba slammed the book shut and turned to the girl.

"I must get into the palace. At any price!"

She lifted the book and shook it in front of Brina’s face.

"Oh shit, if only half of those incantations do what I fear they do, and someone who can’t really see magic tries them blindly—"

She didn’t finish the sentence and shook her head again instead.

Chapter 64: Hunger, Fruits And Secrets

"I can’t go any further," Brina panted. "I’m growing weak again. Need to — rest a little." Her knees began to tremble, and she sagged against the wall of the palace. Yrba knelt down beside her.

"Shouldn’t have come with me in the first place," Yrba muttered. Louder, she replied, "It’s okay. Rest here for a while, and then go back to your house. I’ll manage the rest alone."

She looked up along the crenelated walls. "Or so I hope."

"Little gate — to the right, kitchen and stables. Someone’s gonna let you in. Girls guard it themselves. Mention me there."

"Brina sends me. I’m looking for Patra."

The ill-equipped guard woman looked at the stocky visitor with the dark skin and the blazing clothes. Glancing left and right, she suddenly grabbed Yrba and pulled her into the shadow of the small gate.

"Some nerve you’ve got, showing your mug around this place," she whispered. "You’re too late, witch. Patra took off with a merchant, two months ago. What are you doing here anyway? Some of us remember well it was you who has brought this leech of a goddess upon us. You better leave, and fast!"

Yrba freed herself from the hand that held her collar.

"Not before I talked to the goddess," she hissed.

The other woman snorted. "You want to — fine! Maybe you can beat some sense into her, while you’re at it! Take the stairs over there. Us kitchen girls, we’re not even allowed to the upper floors any more. See if you have any more luck with that."

The witch met not a single soul as she sneaked through empty hallways and the stale air of dusky corridors. Nobody had been here for months. On the dust-covered floor, her feet left the first footprints in a long time. Only when she neared the throne hall did the marks and tracks increase. 

Yrba stormed through the door, expecting to find Mirca with her boobs filling the room straight up to the two huge domes of the roof.

She was wrong. The throne hall was empty, save for a lone maid sweeping the floor in an exercise of futility. Yrba quickly strode across the marble to the echo of her footfall.

"You, girl! Where is the goddess?" she barked.

The broom stopped waggling as the maid glanced at the intruder, disinterest in her gaze. "Why, at the summer residence, of course." She continued her chore. Yrba waited a few seconds for another reply, until the rough bristles of the broom scraped over her feet. She jumped aside.

"Hey! Hello?! I’m still he—ere! Summer residence? Where is that? Don’t make me pull the words from your nose one by one!"

The maid frowned. "Huh? Residence? It’s at… uh, wait, I almost got, it’s at… at…" She shrugged. "Sorry, I thought — well, it’s the goddess’ summer residence! What does it matter to me? I don’t need to know where the summer residence is after all." She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you, anyway? You’re not from the palace! Darkskin? You a trader? What do you want in here at all? You’ve got no business—"

"I, uh, I just thought the door leads to the baths. I heard you got a lot of bathtubs and stuff and I, kinda, wondered if you’d need—," Yrba frantically improvised, "—soap! Right, exactly. I’m a soap trader. And I heard your goddess—"

"Ah, one of those. Well, you heard wrong," the woman shrugged.

"Scented oils then?" Yrba added in faked, devout hopefulness.

"No," was the reply. "And you better make yourself scarce now, the guards don’t like it when strangers parade around here."

Yrba grudgingly turned around and hesitated in the door frame. A certain background noise was missing. She took a glance at the palace square and narrowed her eyes, turned around and addressed the girl again.

"Since when is the fountain dried up? Come on, can’t you at least remember this?"

The maid shrugged. "Must’ve been about the time that the goddess moved out for the summer," she answered and turned her back as she picked up sweeping the floor again.

None of the few other maids she met sneaking through the palace had been able to offer any clue to the 'summer residence'. Yrba had taken to the old records in the library instead, searching for maps, but the hours went by, and still she had nothing to show. The library was as dusty and deserted as Yrba remembered it to be. Since the whole backside of the palace burrowed into the rocky slope, light became scarce the farther the witch walked along the tall shelves where scrolls upon scrolls were stored inside bundles of tubes. A few dozen steps in, rock face replaced the marble walls. She sat down with another handful of rolled-up parchments and tried to decipher the minuscule handwritten records.

When finally she lifted her eyes from the dusty scrolls, she startled, noticing that the daylight had almost gone. She sighed and rose, looking for a hideaway for the night. Finally she curled up to sleep in a hidden corner, ignoring her grumbling stomach.

Long past midnight, Yrba woke to the rumble in her tummy. She patted down her pockets, even though she knew there was nothing in there. All she found were a few pieces of weed that must’ve slipped through her fingers over the course of the last few weeks. She gnawed on the dried-up stalks.

Milkman’s friend. Well, won’t do me much good, stale as it is.

While she chewed on, her hands massaged her breasts through the layer of her clothes. It felt good. Warmth spread through her flesh.

Oh? Maybe there’s a little punch left in that dried straw after all.

Yrba dug her fingers into her cleavage and cupped the soft, sensitive volume of her left breast. She gasped at the touch, and as she pulled the heavy, pliable melon out into the chilly air of the library, her nipple hardened. The witch bent the dangling, elongated dumpling upward and lowered her head as she squeezed the nervous nub in the palm-sized areola towards her pouted lips.

She shuddered as her warm, plump lips touched her own skin, and she closed her thighs and started to rub them against each other while she sucked on her mammary. Glands woke, gently prodded by the herbs coursing in her blood. The first sweet drops of milk seeped from the rough skin and melted on Yrba’s hungry tongue. She sucked stronger, and, reluctantly, her body obeyed.

Feeding off myself. Won’t do much good for long, either. Still, better than nothing.

The chill of Yrba’s evaporating spittle made the almost black skin of her areola contract into concentric folds as she let go of her emptied first breast and switched to her other, still brimming jug. Thin, warm jets sprayed in the night air, and the witch hastened to cup her hand and catch as much as she could in her palm. Pinching her right nipple with one hand, she licked up the tiny puddle in her other hand before she relieved the pent up reservoir of her right mammary into her mouth.

Sweet as it was, it still emptied much too soon. Yrba sighed and wrapped herself up again.

Dammit, I wish I could get at the groceries in my cart. No point in sneaking out and back in, though.

She narrowed her eyes. Few and weak were the sparkles of magic that floated around. Even they seemed tired and worn. Yrba folded her arms over her chest and curled up against the wall again.

Still two or three hours until sunrise.

She tried to put the puzzle pieces of the palace’s mystery together, but there was so little to begin with that soon she gave up on it and listened to the faint noises of the night instead, dozing off every now and then.

Footsteps, quiet and slow. Yrba lifted her head. Weak candlelight shone through the crack between the door leaves, and then one of them was opened quietly. Muffled voices drifted down the hall.

"No, oh please, I don’t want —"

"Most of the guards are asleep! And we’re all starving, you stupid broad! You pulled the short straw, it’s your turn tonight. Just see that nobody’s inside, and dip your finger into the bottle with the purple juice and lick it! Remember, only one or two drops. And then hurry back before it starts! We’re waiting with the buckets."

"But—"

Slap.

"Go! You’ll do you part like the rest of us!"

Someone outside shoved a shadowy figure through the gap. It hesitated and almost turned around to flee, then an arm from the outside pointed into the depths of the hall. The figure cowered and tiptoed along the shelves, rubbing one of her cheeks. Yrba quickly hid behind a table.

Sounds like some of the maids. Juice? Drops? Those scatterbrains are messing with magic!

She sneaked after the woman.

This doesn’t bode well. No, not at all.

Deep in the library, the shadow stopped and listened with bated breath at a small door before she sneaked inside, only to return a few moments later. Yrba narrowed her eyes. What few sparks of magic there were, now they drifted towards the womb of the young woman. To the witch’s other sight, the girl glowed from the inside like a paper lantern.

"Mumblia," whispered the slender woman as she carefully closed the door and turned around. Her footsteps were faster and louder now. She dragged the incoming sparkles after her like a veil, and the glow in her belly intensified. Yrba followed her closely.

The lass pushed back her sleeves and started with gestures. Yrba shook her head.

Never do magic on the run, you stupid broad. Wait — that’s just flailing, nothing else. You don’t have the gift to start with. Your wiggling goes right through the mesh. Dammit. Wannabes without a clue and a belly full of strong stuff. Now what did you swallow in there?

One more corner to turn before they would arrive in the main corridor to the library’s exit.

Do I stop her now? Maybe she’s got a few answers. Or maybe she’ll scream for the guards. Maybe the others will rush in, and there’s no telling what they’ll think of an intruder. They all seemed pretty nervous. Not a good ide— holy shit, that’s one big sparkle if I ever saw one!

It flew right by Yrba and soaked into the girl’s body, lighting it up like a flare. The young woman gasped and rose to her toes before she collapsed against one of the shelves. Scrolls tumbled down around her as she grasped at them. She managed a few more steps, moaning quietly, before she finally stooped and fell over. With clenched teeth, she rolled on her back, clutching her chest. The candle in her hand dropped to the floor, rolled away and died. In the blue darkness, things moved under her loose toga. They moved fast.

"Girls," coughed the young woman, her gasps subdued to an urgent whisper. "Sisters! Quick! Uuuuhhh—hurry! It’s starting! What do I dooooaah — now?"

Whoever she had come with, they didn’t hear her. And before she overcame her fear of the guards and dared to yell louder, the moist, lustful fire in her body overcame her mind. Her eyes grew big, and her jaw went slack.

Her nipples had started out as tiny bumps barely showing through her toga. Now the white cloth domed up as the girl’s areolae throbbed upward, and the rest of her chest hastened to join in. In moments, her dress stretched over swelling hills that soon turned into foot-high, bulging mountains of flesh. The gurgling of liquid and groaning of taxed flesh and skin filled the moments of silence between the young woman’s throaty breaths. Her legs pumped, and her heels slipped over the polished marble floor.

She squeezed her fingers into her barely yielding orbs, her rhythm accelerating along with her mammaries’ growth. Her toga reached its capacity. Another squeeze, and the cloth, straining over the strawberry-sized nipples, turned dark with wetness from the inside. Another squeeze, and a white gush bulged up the garment before the warm, sticky helping ran down the sides of her breasts, turning more of the white toga into a clingy, transparent wrapper. Another squeeze, and now the gushes didn’t stop any more, they just pulsed stronger and weaker with her frantic stimulations. The maid squirmed happily in an ever-growing, steaming puddle as she pumped pint after pint from her mammoth knockers.

Yrba narrowed her eyes and ignored her growling stomach. The smell of fresh, warm milk spreading through the cool air didn’t make it any easier.

Heavens, she’s sucking them sparkles into her womb like a whirlpool. It isn’t over by far. There’s something else about to happen. The breasts, that’s just a side effect. Dammit. Much as I despise them, maybe I should’ve learned more about the complex spells. What is this stuff?

She frowned. The maid’s body swallowed the inbound specks of light much faster than her conjured jugs consumed them, and the ethereal glow didn’t focus on her chest, even though the pair of malleable pumpkins throbbed and swayed in the swirls and eddies of magic like balloons caught in a gale. Her womb stockpiled the energy, growing brighter by the second in the witch’s eyes.

"Ungh my melons, oooahh my sweet big heavy honeymelons," babbled the girl, stroking deftly from the root of her breasts over her brimming flesh to the swollen nipples that spouted milk into the soaked, fluttering cloth like a pair of hoses.

Yrba winced as a flash of magic blinded her eyes. She blinked a few times until the afterimages of rainbow-colored arcs, bursting from the maid’s belly and crawling along the edges of the shelves, faded. The witch stared at the young woman on the floor. Ethereal light, strong, focused light, emerged from a single point inside the girl’s belly. The girl’s swelling belly. 

The bloat spread quickly. In seconds, her womb had blown up by more than a hands’ width. The girl’s hands left the heavy, milk-spewing pumpkins of her breasts and cupped the expanding orb. She suddenly seemed terrified, struggled to her feet and stumbled towards the exit, swaying under the dangling momentum of her dripping, elongated milkbags and her throbbing potbelly while she opened her mouth to scream.

"H—mmggpf!" 

Yrba grabbed her from behind and covered the writhing girl’s lips with her hand. She leaned over her shoulder and hissed, "What did you do?! What kind of potion did you drink?"

"Intru—mmgpf!" The girl tried to scream again, and Yrba slapped her hand back on the girl’s gaping mouth. Another pulse of expansion throbbed through the body in the witch’s grip. The soaked toga strained around the orb stretching a dozen inches from the lass’ midriff. The durable cloth groaned, struggling to contain the growing girth.

"One more time," Yrba whispered into the young woman’s ear. "Maybe I can help you. Don’t you dare to scream!"

She let go of the lass’ jaw. The girl’s hands pushed down in vain on the swelling orb. Her belly finally overwhelmed the white cloth, ripped it open and spilled out through a long, horizontal tear in the garment, hanging down as a throbbing, twenty inches ball that dangled to her knees as she stooped. Her navel stood out like a half-lemon nipple. Sweat and tears covered the young woman’s face as she sagged against the witch’s body.

"P—plenty, h—hhaaaaaagh—horn of plenty—," sobbed the girl.

"Oh shit. You crazy?!"

"Aggghhh—," gasped the captured woman. "A little food — for us — guuuuuhhhh!"

Yrba cursed. "Cornucopia’s a goddamned sacrificial potion, stupid girl! It makes fruits appear inside whatever poor creature you give it to! How much did you drink?"

"A—A drop, only a single drop—hoowwaaaah! My tits! They’re — so full — my belly — huuuurrrnngh!"

Yrba bit her lip. A single drop is well enough to fill up a cow until it bursts like a piñata!

Propping up the girl, with one arm wrapped through the milk-lubed cleft between the udder-sized boobs and the growing dome of the womb, Yrba fumbled in her pockets for her emergency vial. She pulled out the cork with her teeth, spat it aside and juggled the content into her open hand. The witch wrestled her coated palm into the tight cloth and slathered the green, glowing slime on the girl’s struggling nipples.

"Can’t help you with your womb, too much charge in there already. You’d just blow up faster. This’ll make it easier on your tits, at least."

Yrba’s fingers scribbled hasted sigils while the ooze soaked rapidly into the swollen, strained skin. She finished the last strokes and cupped both bulging breasts, holding her forefingers and thumbs like O’s around the tiny, spraying nipples.

"Papilla mammae boviforme temporalis! Expandere ducti lactiferi!"

Another throb of growth tore long cuts into the soaked garment. Focused on the very narrow spots in the witch’s grip, sleek flesh grew and squeezed through the rings of Yrba’s fingers, inch after inch after inch, sprouting forward into a pair of fat teats. The tiny, overwhelmed ducts in the former nipples’ rough skin united and turned into two nozzles, their holes half an inch across. Milk burst out in two long, white arches and spattered over the floor.   

"Hhhhhaaaaahhhh!" exhaled the quivering figure in Yrba’s embrace.

"Your hands! Here, gimme your hands!" Yrba grabbed the girl’s wrists and pushed her hands into the warm white jets, then she wrapped the girl’s slippery fingers around the fleshy rods. "And now, milk’em like there’s no tomorrow!"

She lowered the twitching body to the floor, circled the girl, grabbed her legs, spread them apart and tore the white toga over the girl’s crotch wide open.

'Wide open' also greeted the witch’s eyes. Magic crawled in tiny sparks and long, forked lightnings over the distended labia. Something, trapped inside, pushed violently against the struggling mouth. The young woman’s groin moved and swelled and stretched as if her hip bones had turned into rubber.

"What did you wish for?"

"Wish for—? Hurrrrgh!" The girl cramped up again. "I didn’t know I could wish for—gnnnnh! Rrrrgghh!"

Yrba pulled a thin scroll from the shelf by her side and pushed the piece of wood, wrapped in parchment, sideways into the girl’s wide open mouth.

"Bite down on this and keep quiet. Dammit! I told you to keep on milking yourself! Stroke, stroke, stroke! Up, down, up, down! Well, if you live through whatever you’ll birth now, then you better start wishing for things small!"

"Gnuh—Gnah—Nnngh!—Nrrrrnnghh!"

Yrba’s fingertips traced the edge of the distended labia and slipped through the copious slime that squeezed out along the rim of the plugged, almost circular hole. Whatever took form in there, it was round. And hard. And big.

"Girl, what the fuck kind of fruits do you like?"

"Gnnnnn—! Wnnh—wnnghter—m—mlnnnns…"

"Watermelons?!"

The witch coated her hand in the ooze slowly seeping from the straining hole and smeared the glistening lube around the young woman’s crotch.

"Hurrrrn—"

Groooooaaann.

The outer labia’s thick rim of flesh throbbed bigger in Yrba’s grip. She gulped. Cornucopia started to change the lass’ body to its liking, and the spell hadn’t even reached its full strength yet. There wasn’t much time left.

"Nnnnggghh—"

Gnnnnooouurrrbbb.

Now Yrba’s brown fingers barely covered the expanding funnel. From the swollen strawberry of the girl’s clit that rose up, being pulled along with the bloating womb, to the lowest folds just above the ass’ tiny, tight rosette, the length of the young woman’s labia measured more than two hands’ width now. The pink opening grew shallow as the girl’s flesh was forced outward by the thing inside her that demanded more and more space. Her cervix, still closed tight, poked out and started to widen.

"Naaaaahhhhgg—"

 The witch stared at the dark green dome that pushed against the reluctant rim. In plain view, the young woman’s vulva had grown to thrice its size. And it still wasn’t big enough for what was about to burst out.

The girl convulsed. The wood in her bite creaked, and she arched her back. Her fingers closed tight around her teats, squeezing out a long, high spurt before the milk stopped in her cramped-up grip. The bulge in her belly wandered lower, stretching the skin of her labia wide and transparently thin. Her crack opened up wider and wider, turning into a foot-wide circle of overtaxed, glistening skin.

Crrreeeeaaaaak—

"Ngh—ngh—ngh—Hurrrrnnnggh—!"

—Sglorsh.

Thud.

"Ahhhhhh…"

Yrba rolled the huge, green, ooze-covered fruit aside. The young woman’s womb and crotch had collapsed, only to immediately throb bigger again. "Oh please," moaned the sweat-covered girl, rubbing her expanding midriff. "Next time I’ll rip apart! Help me! Stop it!"

The witch shook her head. "I can’t! I can’t stop it. It’ll keep going for at least a quarter of an hour. Can’t do a thing about it. Keep milking!"

"There must be something—heavens! I’m — It’s — in me — filling up — again! Oh ple—he—he—heeeaaase—"

Yrba grabbed the crying girl’s trembling shoulders.

"Quick! Keep on thinking about smaller things! Cherries. Grapes. Bananas. Even a cucumber’s a much better idea!"

"Nnngh." The young woman closed her eyes. "Banan—oooaaah! Mmmh! Hwww—mmmh!"

Her labia domed again, only to quickly part as something yellow, glistening with lube, poked out and curved upwards as it slipped easily through her dripping canal.

Shhlurrp. Plop.

Her hips started bucking, and her face changed and lightened up. The contortions of pain faded into a sweaty, wide-lipped grin. Her hands on the spouting, slippery teats worked furiously now. White jets pulsed yard-high into the air and splattered down all around.

"Bbbaahh—ooooh!"

Splurgh. Plop.

"Yeeeeees—"

Gluuurg—splosh. Plop.

"—oh yeeeees!"

Yrba wiped cold sweat from her own brow. The witch patted the girl’s wet cheeks and rose.

"You keep your mind on fruits like that, and you’ll be all right. Mind if I steal a snack?"

"M—hmmm," groaned the maid happily. Yrba looked at the throbbing womb that pushed out piece upon piece of ripe, long fruits, and at the girl’s milky mountains, still partially wrapped up tight like pumpkins in a soaked bag. She quickly bent down, put her hands gently around the girl’s fingers to stop her frantic pumping and bit down on the strawberry-sized tip of the bulging teat. Yrba’s lips engulfed the hot, slippery pole of meat. Moments later, her mouth overflowed with fat, sweet milk. She changed her grip, digging her splayed fingers into the taut sphere that fed the bovine spout. The witch drew long, greedy gulps of the nurturing gift from the udder-sized ball that dwarfed the pair of her hands.

By the time the other girls came by with their baskets, Yrba had already locked the door to the hidden chamber. From the inside.

And by the time the happy lass, squirming in delight on the cold floor, could speak words other than just chains of vowels, Yrba had already left the palace.

Not bad for a conjured snack.

The witch stuffed the slippery, empty peel of the yellow fruit into one of her skirt’s pocket and licked her lips. Keeping half an ear on the hushed commotion outside that soon wandered off into the distance, she inspected the small laboratory. The tiny room had a shelf stacked with maps, a large table littered with glassware and a single, flickering oil lamp.

Yrba thumbed through the old scrolls until she found the drawings she had been searching for in the library. The palace’s fountains were fed by an ancient net of tunnels, based on the lava flows of old. The extinct volcano’s crater served as funnel and cistern. Her finger tapped on the round line that showed its place. Someone had only recently marked it with a crude circle.

Chapter 65: Boobwalled

Yrba rolled up the map and stashed it back into its place when she noticed a small, cloth-bound book on the bench. It was but a plain notebook with pages of cheap parchment paper, the kind of book a wealthy trader might use to jot down order lists or deliveries. Somehow, that little thing seemed out of place, and that was why she grabbed it and wiped off the months of dust that had collected on the cover. She flipped through the pages.

It was a diary of sorts, filled with long rows of numbers, many of the struck through, until she reached the last pages and written lines replaced the cryptic numbers. She stared at the list of laconic entries, and her anger rose with each line and page.

Solid gold! Pretty, dumb, BIG already.

Day 2. Commenced fattening. Responds well to guidance.

Day 12. Interfering nuisance removed.

Day 15. Absorb. M. Formula successf.

Day 30. Massive growth spurt. Likely useful. Trigger?

Day 33. What an outburst! Note: Avoid any irritation, too unstable.

Day 113. Nuis. ret.

Day 178. Trans. compr., move to burst place successf.

"Nuis. ret. — Nuisance returned?" hissed Yrba. "Burst place?!"

She looked around in the small room. No lockers, nothing except for some tools of the arcane arts. Yrba saw the faint, unearthly glowing wake of something that put up a resistance to the flow of magic. She stepped closer and furrowed her brow. In a bucket by the workbench lay a heap of cracked, round shapes. They might have been rings once, or tiny cylinders. Now they were but smashed fragments.

Her fingers ran over the white material. She jerked back when the sparks of pent-up magic bit into her fingertips. Sucking on her tingling fingers, she frowned for a moment before her eyes suddenly widened.

A wizard’s strength is in his bones. She gasped. Heavens!

Someone had taken this old proverb at face value, and had done so successfully. Judging from their size, she was looking at rings sawn from a hollowed-out femur.

That’s how a non-immune can grab magic! But who? It could be anybody! she pondered. Carwon? He’s putting on an act all the time. Yolanda? She’s obviously been a heavy user of my Tincture even before I arrived. Maybe she’s decided to do a little witching by the side. Has she ever forgiven Mirca for the episode with the nipple? Who else might’ve hoped for the goddess’ throne?

When did this meddling start? From the get-go, obviously. Did we run into a set trap? Are they all in on it? Hardly, I guess. But then — who could hope to gain from all this?

Yrba lowered her head and pinched the root of her nose.

Hell, it could be just about anyone in this accursed palace!

She gazed around. Nothing in the little chamber hinted at who was scheming here.

No point in searching long and hard for an answer here. Just find Mirca, bring her down to size even if the pain makes her cry bloody murder, and off into the sunset! I need my thigh bones for myself!

As she turned, her foot kicked a small, ornamental clasp. She picked it up and looked at it. She had seen it before. Her head jerked up.

You! You’re so going down!

Yrba ventured on up the corridor, brimming with anger at Carwon.

Two-timing double-crossing rotten bastard!

The dark tunnel ended at a stone doorway. Yrba peeked into the tall and narrow chasm behind it and finally looked up. Faint reddish light came from up high where the smooth, alabaster surfaces of the walls met. Wooden struttings secured the three yards’ width of the natural hallway that reached up for some forty yards before the walls touched again, and a rope bridge with wooden planks spanned the twenty yards leading down from the tunnel’s mouth to a mound of sand and rocks, crowned with a round, blanket-covered marble pedestal. On the pedestal rested a figure of which Yrba only saw the head, but in an instant she recognized the long cascade of golden-white hair that flowed like a waterfall over the edge of the marble slab.

"Mirca!" exclaimed the witch and broke into a run. Her feets thumped across the bridge’s planks, and the ropes creaked and groaned.

Yrba stepped from the swaying catwalk onto the sandy floor in front of the altar and stopped in shock once realization set in.

Mirca’s shape was beyond grotesque. The first thing that a visitor registered as he approached across the bridge was that he walked up to a normal, albeit rather tall and muscular blonde resting on her back on the elevated pedestal. The next things were the two walls of white that moved in towards her, forming a cleft in which she was stuck. And the next next thing, which almost broke the mind, was to recognize the walls for her breasts and that the visitor had already walked right through and under them for the last few moments. Her bosoms, mountains of quivering flesh and pulsating glands and steaming milk, had grown far beyond comprehension and filled the crater from its bottom to the rim like a pair of huge corks. The whole chamber, with its walls of faintly glowing, smooth skin spanning between the creaking stilts and struttings, had been excavated inside her cleavage by propping up and spreading apart the warm, smooth flesh of her breasts.

Yrba gulped. Whatever she had expected, she hadn’t expected this.

"Heavens!" she stammered, her fingers trembling against her slack jaw. "Mirca! How are you doing?"

The blonde turned her head and managed to spot Yrba from the corner of her eyes. She giggled, "Hey, look! It’s Yrba! Hi, Yrba! You mind if I don’t rise? I’m a bit top heavy. How are you doing?"

"Me? Me?! Mirca, what’s the matter with you? You weren’t that stupid when I first met you!"

"Oooh, so old meanie Ybbie is back. Yap-yap-yap."

Tentatively, the witch ran her fingertips over the funnels of taut skin that rooted in Mirca’s chest and stretched out to form the mind-numbing, colossal blobs of boob flesh all around.

"Mirca, focus. How. Are. You?"

"Meh, I’m okay, I guess." She giggled again. "It’s only the nipples, they’ve become so taut, they’re aching a bit. Mnnngh! Oooh! It really feels soo good when the breeze tickles over my skin! Oh, if only I could tell you how I keep on coming and gushing if it rains on them! It’s, like, awesome! Oh, I can’t wait to see where my darling will take this eggs—puh—ree—ment."

"Experiment. Mirca, you never complained?! He’s torturing you!"

"Torture? Oh no! You’ve got no idea how — mmmmh! — how awesome this feels! And, just listen to this!"

She slapped her hands into the expanding funnels that stretched from her chest. The whole cave filled with the deep, sonorous rumbling of a giant drum that drowned Mirca’s raunchy exhale, triggered by the quivers wandering through her mountainous boobs.

"Hear that? I’ve taught the maids a little of your dancing, and now when they dance for me, I’m my own beer cushions in strumming!"

"Per-cus-sion in-stru-ment," the witch corrected automatically, grinding her teeth.

"And we’re just playing around after all. It’s so much fun! He’s so ingenious with these things! I’m so happy, helping him! He comes up with a funny new potion for me to try each day! I’ve eaten so much, I can feed the shire for ages with all that pent-up milk! And see! I’m still a strong girl!" Mirca flexed her arms.

Yrba shook her head in disbelief. Rrrright. Talking to Mirca. Pick a lower mental gear or drown in exclamation marks. — Heavens, with those bicepses, she could lift horses.

"Well, dear, then let’s go and ask him what he wants to do today," the witch said in the friendliest voice she could manage, what with being an intruder on forbidden grounds and about to whisk away the most prized possession of a power-crazed vizier.

"Silly witch!" the blonde giggled. "Do I look like I can move?"

Yrba cracked her knuckles.

"Oh, I’ll help you with that, young lady. Oh yes. Oh yes."

The witch completed the weaving motions of her arms and cast the magical web around the white hills of Mirca’s breasts. The invisible fibers sang in her hands.

Goodness gracious, I’ve never tried to rein in a mass this big. The milk will blow out of her nipples like a dozen whales’ fountains. I’d pay to see that!

She pulled and felt a sudden resistance she hadn’t expected.

Mirca screamed at the top of her lungs. Her body arched and convulsed. She flailed her arms in pain as her breasts bulged through the gaps in the unyielding ethereal mesh. The fibers cut deep into the breasts. After a few seconds, Yrba could no longer stand seeing her friend consumed by agony. She let go, dropped to her knees and clutched her face in her hands.

"Oh heavens, Mirca, forgive me. It doesn’t work. I’m so sorry!"

The blonde sobbed and wailed. "Mean witch! Go away! Carwon never hurt me at all! You only came to hurt me, like the last time! Guards! Guards! Seize her and throw her out of the palace!"

Yrba spun around. Her entrance had been some sort of back door. On the opposite side, almost a dozen of bigger, two-winged doors lined up. They were still closed, but footfall approached rapidly.

"Shush! Mirca, I’m not ready to give up yet! I don’t know why the milk didn’t spurt—"

"Stupid crone!" barked the swollen giantess. "Of course we had to clog the nipples! How else could I store all the milk for the great ceremony?! If you had asked me, I could’ve told you that before you hurt me! You never ask me! GUARDS!"

"All right, I’m going to — oh, just wait here! I’ll take care of the rest, Mirca."

Yrba ran towards the row of doors and kicked open the one labeled "Stairs". Inside, a spiral staircase led upwards.

The reflections of daylight on the wall illuminated the last few turns of the seemingly endless flight of stairs. Yrba panted heavily and forced her legs’ burning muscles into the final climb. So far, the only light along the winding steps had been a faint, milky shine that filtered through small, boob-covered slits in the wall. She blinked as she finally stumbled against the cold black stone of the door frame, and lifted a hand to shield her eyes against the blinding blast of daylight. A gale howled across the snow-covered top of the mountain, and Yrba squinted in the bright sunshine reflected by a vast expanse of white that filled half of her eyesight.

Her toes had barely touched the ground when she jerked back and clutched the door frame tightly. The floor had moved. And it was no snow. What her soles had stepped on was soft and warm and yielding like mattress. At her feet stretched a skin so taut that its pearly white glow hurt Yrba’s eyes. Spanning the several hundred yards of the crater, with only a single cleft along the middle where the black stone tower of the staircase poked through, the surface of Mirca’s bloated pair of breasts created a gentle dome with a twin summit. Instead of nipples, Yrba saw two wooden boxes marking the apexes, their lower edges cushioned with a ring of rolled-up blankets against the doming, hill-like areolae. Each of the small sheds had heavy chains wrapped around it.

Yrba knelt down and ran her hands over the soft, velvety surface. Narrowing her eyes and switching to her special sight, the mountains of flesh became foggy like two huge drops of watered-down milk. Her gaze reached a few yards deep into the boobs. Their volume was alive with veins of pulsating magic, flowing along the ducts and feeding the bulbous milk glands. The witch gulped. All over the unimaginable amount of Mirca’s flesh, the grape-like clusters of milk wells magically conjured up gallons upon gallons of liquid that streamed into the ever-expanding blimps with every passing second, and yet their unrelenting growth was barely noticeable.

Yrba leaned backwards and put one foot forward, slowly resting her weight on it. She sank in to her ankles until the spongy resistance carried her body. Balancing with her arms and leaning into the howling wind, Yrba walked out into the shuddering and swaying white fields of her friend’s boobs. The skin groaned and squeaked under her soles, and she didn’t dare to think what might happen if she were to accidentally pierce the straining surface. As she inched step by step over the sensitive skin, Yrba heard Mirca’s giggle and laughter at the tickle of the witch’s feet, the giantess’ voice from below being dampened and carried at the same time through her boobs.

Despite the cold and the constant gale, sweat ran down Yrba’s face by the time she finished her uphill climb over the left one of the twin peaks of Mount Mirca. Setting her feet firmly against one of the melon-sized nubs on the light brown areola, she reached for the padlock on the chain around the shed.

After a few minutes of tinkering, the chain fell down, bounced and snaked across the skin and disappeared from the witch’s view as it slid along the curved surface. Yrba held her breath while her eyes followed the jingling metal before she turned around and pulled the door of the shed open.

She recoiled from what she saw, and almost lost her footing.

"Bastard!" she muttered and stared at Mirca’s coarse, man-sized nipple that was covered top to botton in a thick layer of wax. The hardened substance clogged each and every duct she could make out. Not a single drop came through.

She felt the rumble of the skin under her naked feet as another gush of milk amassed in the brimming breasts. The shed creaked as the areola it rested on grew again. The star-shaped pleats and wrinkles around the edge, where the teat disappeared into the tight grip of the wax cylinder, became even more pronounced.

Yrba cracked her knuckles and focused on the ubiquitous dancing tendons of magic, looking for the right grip. A sudden twitch of the nipple might crack that hull, or making them hot might melt or loosen the wax.

"Hold on, Mirca. You’ll get some relief as soon as—"

Carwon stepped around the shack with a half-raised rapier in his grip. The blade sparkled in the sunlight as he slowly turned it until the point aimed at Yrba’s throat.

"I can’t let you do that. Not yet. Let go of the magic, lower your hands and step away from the shed."

"Make me, vizier," Yrba sneered and clenched her fists tighter around the invisible strands.

Carwon sighed and lowered his rapier. Yrba squinted and froze as its point neared the skin they both were standing on.

"Yrba, this here is all I ever lived for. Years of planning," his voice became harder, "and I won’t have that taken from me, understood? I am willing to poke this bubble even if it means none of us will live. Neither you nor me nor your precious girl toy nor the whole town below. Nothing in the whole shire will escape if she blows. Are you willing to make this sacrifice?"

He calmed down and took a deep breath, raising his other hand with his fingers spread wide.

"But there’s no need for hostility. Yrba! Please! You of all people should understand what I’m trying to do. Come down with me, and let’s talk this over."

"Listen to him! He’s sooo clever! Oh my sweet lovey-dovey, you go and tell the mean old witch!" Mirca yelled from down below.

Now it was Yrba’s turn to roll her eyes and sigh.

"Do I have a choice?" she sneered and let go. The distorted magic snapped back with a twang.

A quarter of an hour later, they arrived at the foot of the crater. A few buildings — without doubt the former summer palace — clung to the side of the mountain. They sat down in the deserted throne room, and Yrba wiped a few drops of sweat from her brow after the swift descent.

"A little refreshment? Might make our chat go down a little easier."

Carwon filled a huge chalice with Mirca’s milk and offered it to the witch. She grabbed it with both hands and gulped down the whole load in long, thirsty draws, licked her milk moustache off and sighed.

"Delicious. Yes, that girl knows how to lactate the good stuff. — Huh? You can stop eyeing me, waiting for any effect. Of course I knew you’d offer me some of her special milk. Why, it’s positively glowing with her love for you, isn’t it? Yet I’m still inclined to kick your ass. Hard. So convince me otherwise, or I’ll turn you into a frog."

She smiled as he stared at her in disbelief. Pure, sweet milk. A shudder ran all over her body as her greedy glands warmed up, getting ready to turn the influx of raw material into her very own and to deposit it into her breasts. Soon she’d swell up quite a few cup sizes, but Yrba had too much fun bursting this little prick’s bubble to care about that little inconvenience.

"The milk just won’t work. I’m immune to magic. You’ll have to do much, much better than that. But I must applaud you."

He gave her a half-angry, half-curious look and remained mute.

She continued, "If you insist on the silent treatment, then I’ll lay down your plans for you. You’ve been using sympathetic magic on her, haven’t you? Every time you’ve fucked her, she’s fallen more and more for you. That’s how you now keep your shire in line, too. You’re using your 'goddess' as a dairy cow to supply the milk for them. You pump her with your sperm as often as you can get your little big Carwon up and bingo, her milk makes everyone adore you. And then, one day when she’s grown big enough, boom. Oh, they’ll love you for miles and miles around if that rain comes down."

She smiled, and her fingers played around her quickly warming breasts. It had been a big chalice.

"There’s one thing I don’t get. You know about cornucopia. You could’ve used it to feed Mirca, but you fleece your shire instead."

He laughed hoarsely.

"Don’t I know it. No, conjured food doesn’t seem to feed her quite the way it should. I need grown food. Good thing her milk keeps the riffraff in line."

The witch let go of her struggling chest that had already put on an extra inch. She placed her fingertips together and tapped her lips with her forefingers while she slanted her head and frowned.

"I really can admire a well-planned nefarious scheme for power when I see one. But she’s my friend, and I’m going to free her. I won’t even mention that your people out there suffer, Carwon."

"You think she’ll listen to you? She loves me. She can’t help it. That ditz would do anything for me."

"Even if I tell her how you’re planning to fatten her boobs until she goes out with a bang, erupts like a milk volcano and rains her y’all-love-Carwon-juice over the other shires? There are limits to control. She can’t be that mindfucked."

"She won’t know, because you sure as hell won’t tell her. Guards!"

They had waited for his call and now seemed to appear out of thin air.

Yrba remained calm and just waved dismissively at them.

"Boys, y’all be nice and run along now."

Much to Carwon’s surprise, they bowed and retreated.

"What have you — you can’t — what the devil?!" he stuttered.

"Oh, I needed a while to figure that out, too. See, you’ve made everyone love and obey you because you’re spicing the milk with something from your body. Now guess where her boobs came from in the first place? There’s just as much, no, most definitely even more, of me in her. I let her drink from my breasts and then pumped her with a gallon of my special sauce long before you even picked her for your plans."

She smiled and rested her head on her palm.

"Your little trick cuts both ways. They love me even more than you. That’s the short of it. To think that I’ve sneaked into a palace that I own —" Yrba chuckled and shook her head. "I could’ve walked in through the front door!"

"Then you’re my natural ally. How often do I need tell you? We don’t have to fight each other. I never wanted that to happen. Come on! Once she blows, you’ll own the country as well. They’ll all love you just like me. And I must admit, even though you can’t be enhanced, you do pack some serious ... attraction."

"You — and me? After what you did?" She snorted. "In your dreams, bub."

"So sad. This leaves me no choice. Royal guards, seize her!"

"Slow learner, eh?"

Now he smiled.

"I make sure these guards don’t drink milk. Sometimes, a good pay is good enough."

Yrba ducked out of the way of the first blow from behind, and the club came down on her shoulder instead of hitting her over the head. The sudden pain and the heavy impact made her stumble and fall. The second blow did hit the back of her head, and her lights went out. She didn’t even feel it when she collapsed on the floor.

Chapter 66: Helping Hands, Again

Yrba opened her eyes. It didn’t make much of a difference. Only the faint light of a flickering torch shone through the small window in the wooden door. Her cell was a cube of about two yards squared, and the walls were solid bedrock, not bricks. She hung from a hook in the ceiling, by her wrists which were tied together with a solid rope, and the thing in her mouth —

Dammit, he was even clever enough to have me gagged. How long have I been out? — Oh no. Too long —

She winced when a familiar urge seared through her breast. Her plump melons were full to the brim. 

Oh heavens, I’ve already put on that whole chalice of milk? I really need to lay off all that herb chewing. Damn milkmaid’s friend.

Oh fuuuuck —, she moaned as her breasts began to leak. Yes, oh yes. Let it out. Come on, my boobs. Let down. Let it all out. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of hands now. So full…

She rolled her shoulders and made the cloth rub over her nipples. Slowly, two dark wet halos formed in her bodice.

"Seems like the spicy cow needs milking, urgently. Would be a shame to let that go to waste. I’d really like to help her with that," said a mean, male voice on the other side of the door.

A slap, then another voice replied: "Shut up. You know what the vizier said. Don’t touch her. What the fuck are you doing here at all? We’re not even to look at her! She’s got power over men, he said. Send one of the girls. Yeah, go get the walking boobs. She’s one to know all about milking, I’ll say."

Hurried footfalls disappeared in the distance.

Barely ten minutes passed until a female figure in a frock, with a cowl hanging deep into her face, entered Yrba’s cell. The front of the witch’s bodice was soaked through by now, with two long, dark lines running down well below her belly.

Cold hands with thin fingers wedged into Yrba’s neckline and pulled one of her breasts out. The woman uttered a sulky growl when a spray of milk burst from the tit she was wrestling with and dripped all over her clothes. She pulled the gag from the witch’s mouth, held a bowl beneath the swollen nipple and began to rub and knead Yrba’s aching flesh. The witch sagged down into the ropes as relief made her knees grow weak.

"Heavens, thank you," she moaned. "Oh, you’re good. I really thought I’d burst any moment now."

"You? Burst? The Yrba I knew could make girls take in thousands of gallons without bursting."

"Mmmnngh. Ooooh. Ooaah! Ooo—other girls, yes, but not myself. Hwwwaaahh. Careful with the squ—eeeeezzz! Oh goooods! What — you doing — with your — fingaaaaahh…"

Another thin veil of milk drops rained down. The figure licked her forefingers and moved them in small circles around Yrba’s swollen teat before she pinched it lightly.

"Too bad. I guess that’s why you’re still in here, eh? Can’t wish yourself away."

Yrba frowned. That voice — those massive tits?

"Yo—Yolanda? What are you doing here?"

The girl raised a knife and pressed her body against Yrba’s. Her eyes, the only bright spots in the darkness of the cowl, sparkled in the flickering light, together with the hint of bared teeth. The witch straightened away until the back of her head bumped into the wall behind her.

"Yolanda, put dow—mmmmmpht!"

The young woman quickly slapped her hand over Yrba’s mouth and stifled the command.

"No sweet-talking me, witch! And don’t stare at my tits," hissed the big-boobed brunette and pushed back the cowl, "look me in the face. Don’t you remember what you’ve done?! I’ve come to thank you for that. That’s why I sneaked the knife in."

Yrba raised her head to Yolanda’s face and shivered at what she saw. A large, ugly scar ran from the corner of the girl’s mouth over her cheek and almost to her right earlobe. The witch gulped as the point of the knife inched closer to her own face.

"You’ve saved my life. I’d be dead without your help," Yolanda continued whispering. "Now I can help you. Go. Save the shire. Save us all. Do what we cannot. Kill that bastard."

She raised her hand and sliced the ropes that held Yrba in place. The witch sagged into Yolanda’s sure embrace and dared to breathe again.

"The guards won’t come to look here," whispered the scar-faced woman. "Carwon made them much too scared of you. Just don’t let yourself get caught, all right?"

Yrba grabbed the bowl and started to squeeze away at her breast. Soon, the little dish was filled with milk and foam.

"Hnnngh. Come on! Grab the other one and finish the job! I don’t want to burden myself with that when I sneak through the corridors. They’ll fill up again much too fast, anyway. Dammit, all that herbs chewing is really gonna turn me into a cow one day."

Together, they had Yrba’s dangling melons down to a more relaxed size within minutes. Yolanda got so eager that she knelt down, stuck one throbbing nipple between her lips and sucked away until the witch pulled it out of her grasp.

"Thanks, but I guess I’m dry now."

The brunette’s lower lip protruded in a sulky pout. Yrba ran her hand over her head and traced the scar with her fingertips.

"If we live to meet again, I promise I’ll let you have milk until you say it’s enough, okay?"

Chapter 67: Consumed by Desire

There’s nothing to report about her second walk through the tunnel up to the chamber in the crater. She didn’t run into anybody and found Mirca in the same place she had left her, except maybe that the groaning of the struts had become louder and more urgent.

Yrba hid away in the tunnel until the maids with their empty bowls and dishes, their clothes sweat-drenched and clinging to their bodies after their goddess’ feeding frenzy, had disappeared again. Seeing the blonde stuff herself with food was not a sight for the squeamish. Yet the mountains of food just seemed to disappear once they entered her throat. The witch took a deep breath and sneaked up to the pedestal.

"Mirca! Hey, Mirca!" she hissed.

The blonde bent back her head until she could see, upside-down, her friend as she tiptoed closer.

"Yrba!"

"Shush! So you’ve been stuffing your face all the while?"

"Well, you ran off with Carwon, and I got bored. How did it go? Don’t you think he’s right, too? Oh, he’s such a great thinker!"

"Yeah, right. He locked me away in a cell."

"Yrba! What did you do to make him so angry? He’s such a nice guy."

"What I did—?!" snorted the witch. "Mirca, you hare-b— oh, forget it. There’s just one thing I don’t get. Why didn’t he kill me?"

Mirca shrugged. "I told him about how my boobs would shrink because the magic only works as long as you’re alive."

"Whu — Wha — The fuck?! That’s not how it works at all! And I never said such a thing!" stuttered Yrba.

The tall blonde grinned. "Maybe, but he doesn’t know that."

"You — You cheated him? You married him, and the first thing you do, you start to lie and scheme behind his back? And what’s up with that goofy act? You’ve been clever all the time? Well, rather clever. Not as dumb as one would —"

"Yes, I get it," sneered the blonde. "All right, I deserved that. Yrba, I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool to doubt you."

Yrba had begun to inspect the tools and books piled up on the workbench near the end of the pedestal where Mirca’s feet rested. She thumbed through a few of the thinner tomes and shook her head.

"A fool? Not as much as me. He’s had me wrapped around his finger, too. But why did you start lying to him?"

Mirca smiled, a little smile tainted with a hint of evil.

"What can I say? It seemed only natural, the very second I made the vow."

Yrba laughed and shook her head.

"Now why doesn’t that surprise me, given what I’ve learned about some married couples—"

"If you want to help me, hurry up!" Mirca hissed as her stomach grumbled loudly again. "I need to call the maids, I need to eat!"

"Again?! You’re putting on boobs and milk far too fast!"

"Can I help it?! I tried! I really tried to not eat, just for an hour, and then I started shrinking! My arms and legs grew thinner and thinner, it was horrible! If I don’t keep up with their demand, those hooters will consume me alive! Girls! Bring the next round!"

"I’ve barely managed," Yrba changed to a tight-lipped, pressed whisper as footsteps neared and she hurried past Mirca towards the dark tunnel, "to get a grip on all his spellcasting and stuff. I can’t work like this, being interrupted every damned five minutes and hiding away!"

"Don’t bother then," said Carwon right behind her. Yrba bit her lips and stifled a curse. His hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms on her back. She stooped as the pain raced through her shoulders. Putting his hand over her mouth, Carwon pushed her out into the chamber where the girls stopped and stared at them.

"All right, maids! Everyone out!" he bellowed. "I need to talk to the goddess and this nuisance here, alone."

In their white togas, the scattering girls looked like a nervous flock of doves.

Yrba stood again with her hands tied, this time behind her back, and watched as Carwon took a good look at Mirca and her breasts. He measured the distance between two lines, drawn with coal onto the taut skin of Mirca’s breasts that hung overhead. The priest and vizier shook his head as he compared the reading with a scroll in his hand.

"She’s not growing fast enough!" he complained aloud, thumbing through an old book of spells until his face lightened up. He finally thumped on a page.

"Ah, this one I’ve got to see. Mirca, darling, how about a little change to your body to make it easier for you to eat faster?"

"Anything you say, love!" twittered the blonde. Yrba groaned and rolled her eyes. The moment he was near her, what little brain the blonde had, it seemed to turn to mush. Nobody could put on an act that good. 

Or can she —?

The witch watched closely as he slipped the bone rings over his fingers and went through the gestures. It seemed like a very complex spell, bending quite a lot of nature’s rules. She had a hard time following all the intricate movements. In the end, the glowing fibers descended almost by themselves into a sparkling dot, barely an inch across and hanging in mid-air.

"Wow. You’re good," she grudgingly admitted. "You sure you can’t see magic? And just what was that? I’ve never seen that pattern before."

"Doesn’t surprise me. It’s so old, it’s but a nightmare hidden deep in the minds of men. Vagina dentata voraxia!" he declared as he finished the last minuscule wriggles of his fingers.

Yrba blinked at the sparkles while she translated.

"Pussy, teeth, devour—"

She lifted her head and stared at him, her eyes and mouth gaping.

"Are you nuts?!" she screamed. "You can’t—"

He smiled condescendingly.

"Don’t think it’ll work? Look here. Amazing, I can even feel a little resistance in my grip. Tell me, witch, what does it look like, to a natural mage like you?"

He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. To Yrba, the spell was a glowing sphere of rolled-up threads, caught between his fingers. Colors flickered and danced over the surface. She had never seen anything quite like it. Her magic was more of the practical kind, a little rough, plain, but solid. Stable. This thing — it was a work of art, a delicate filigree brimming with a warped, ancient energy she’d not touch with a ten yards pole. It couldn’t be stable. It just couldn’t. It was far too complicated. The slightest mistake would turn it into — something. Something chaotic. Something alive.

For the first time in years, Yrba implored a man. "In all heavens’ name, Carwon, don’t do this. Don’t —"

"Mirca, dear, would you part your legs?" he cooed.

"Ooh, you’re a bad boy, darling! Hey, Yrba, look, my fun parts!"

"Mirca! Just this once! Listen! Kick him! Don’t let him touch you!" the witch screamed in desperation.

"Yap-yap-yap! You’re always spoiling my fun. This boy’s mine! Neener-neener! Carwon, show the old spoilsport how much fun we have together!"

He rubbed his fingers over her labia and, with a quick flick, pushed the sphere deep inside her. She giggled.

"Tehehe! Hiding grapes again, eh?"

Then she began to pant.

"Hnn. Oh. That’s. Good! Whoa! Carwon! Yes. Yes!"

She opened her mouth, breathing in deep, followed by a moment of silence until she exhaled. What had started as a moan quickly rose to the holler of a beast in heat. Her legs trembled on the pedestal. Yrba stared in disbelief as Mirca’s whole lower body began to wobble. Her ass ballooned out along with her hips, to the sound of sweaty, sticky skin rubbing over marble. Her labia stretched longer, reaching from her pubes to her anus as her crotch domed up. The lips plumped while her womb began to inflate as well, providing a rotund foundation for the expanding vulva.

The growth tapered along her thighs and along her waist. Below her knees and above her navel, she had not changed at all. Only around her hip had her flesh spilled out into something that seemed to be the deformed reflection in a spherical mirror, and not part of the real world.

Slowly, with threads of slime stretching between them and curving down as they lengthened, her labia parted into a vertical mouth, revealing a smacking, moving, glistening funnel of pink, undulating flesh leading into impenetrable blackness. The witch shuddered. Carwon beamed with pride.

"Just imagine how much you’ll be able to swallow now, darling. Do you like it?"

A wail rose from Mirca’s mouth. She sobbed:

"I’ve not eaten for a whole hour! My stomach hurts! My boobs, they’re sucking everything out of me! Where are my maids? I need more food!"

And then the witch heard it. It was as if all the other noises around just receded and left her in a silent cave, alone with that faint, echoing sound of her name.

Yrba...

The voice was sugar-sweet and quiet, more like a whisper right in the back of her head.

Yrbaaaa—hhhhh, it repeated, with a sensual exhale that tugged at her soul. And yet, there were hooks hidden in it. Hooks that dug right into her mind. Hooks she couldn’t fight.

Feed meeee—hhhh, sang the voice.

The witch squirmed and broke down to her knees. Part of her couldn’t believe that her body moved forward towards the gaping hole between Mirca’s spread legs.

Closer to me, giggled the ethereal lure. Yes, my sweet darling, come closer...

On her knees, swaying to the left and right, she struggled forward against her own better knowledge to obey this siren’s call.

No, she finally managed to think in a last fit of defiance, I will not bow to you, whatever vile magic you are. Magic has no power over m—

Pretty please? begged the ghostly voice in her head, followed by a little chuckle. Yrba’s willpower melted away. She struggled to her feet, only to let herself fall forward against the sweat-covered body squirming on the pedestal. Her head landed on Mirca’s pulsating womb, and at once something like a big, slobbering, flabby, sideways mouth snapped at her neck. Puffy lips engulfed half her throat. For a few seconds, her mind was her own again, and it filled with terror. Suction started to pull at her larynx. She gasped for air, sure that this would be the very last time.

Yrbaaa... the hoarse whisper returned, and her thoughts fell apart for good. Feed me. Feed me like our first time...

Struggling with her hands still tied behind her back, the witch pushed herself further up as the maw let go of her throat. She knew what the voice wanted. She knew it with the clarity of mind of a woman possessed. Rubbing her tits up and down against the edge of the pedestal, she dragged down the hem of her top until her breasts, aching from the rough treatment, spilled out and hung in the open. Yrba stood up further, lifted her shoulders and put her dangling boobs down on the blonde’s womb. Then she slowly inched back until one of the bags started to slip down towards the smacking nether lips.

Her left nipple slipped in between the swollen folds. The plumped, dripping labia bulged out and caught it. They slowly spread wider and rounder while they kept sucking and swallowing. More and more of her oblong left breast disappeared into the hot cave. Yrba rubbed her cheek up and down Mirca’s raised thigh. She pressed against the trunk of muscles, her lips gnawing and licking at the sweaty skin. Her own juices dripped from her crotch while Mirca’s abomination of a pussy slowly swallowed her whole breast deeper and deeper, sucking, squeezing and milking at it like a dozen burning, suction-cup-studded tentacles wrapped around. With a final, wet slurp, the breast was as far inside the monster clam as it could go. The thick labia pushed against Yrba’s ribcage, from the fold beneath her breast right up to where her shoulder began. Slime dripped from the lower corner of Mirca’s vulva and ran down Yrba’s stomach, hot, sticky and wet. And the sucking and pulling went on and on.

Both the witch’s nipples were rock hard, but the one buried deep inside her friend stung and itched as the constant suction made it grow bigger and bigger along with the swelling areola beneath. Finally it blew, gushing its white load. Yrba dug her teeth deep into the muscular leg, consumed by her freak breast orgasm. Her eyes were closed, her knees trembled. Emanating from the corner of her mouth were the moans and howls of a mindless animal.

She slowly sank back down to her knees. Her breast slipped out of the distended opening, covered in glistening slime, flabby and emptied, the skin red and raw like a chewed-up lump of meat. A few drops of blood crowned the throbbing teat.

More! One more! One more on the house, begged the voice in the witch’s head.

With no will of her own left, Yrba struggled back to her feet and offered her other breast to the greedy gorge. This time, she didn’t even have any strength left to moan. She just leant against Mirca’s legs and let her other breast be drained away into the insatiable womb while her mind faded under the assault of orgasmic sensations. Mirca’s strong legs wrapped around her and squeezed her harder and harder.

Then, all of a sudden, while Yrba was being reduced to nothing but a trembling shell devoid of any strength, the suction stopped. One of the muscular legs pushed her away, and she fell and curled up on the floor.

No! I don’t want any more of you! You were always so mean, pushing me around, making me do things I hated! I need something else! I need my love! My darling! My heartthrob! I want you in me, all of you! Where are you? the voice wailed.

And then it changed its tone. The hoarse whisper of the sensual seductress returned.

Carwoooon...

His eyes glazed over.

Feed me...

Slowly, he walked up to the pedestal, taking a big step over Yrba. The witch lay spread-eagled on the floor. Her empty eyes were aimed at the ceiling of flesh, at the slow waves wandering over Mirca’s ever-growing breasts.

Yrba blinked. She had the worst hangover of her whole life. Her body seemed to belong to someone else, and that someone was absent. For some reason, her breasts were bare and empty and cold and dripping with slime. Even though it felt as if her head would burst from the movement, she turned and looked around. There was Carwon, pressed up against Mirca. He was clutching her legs, which pointed upwards at the ceiling, while their groins slammed against each other, again and again. Then he bent backwards, opened his mouth to a rutting holler and —

His scream was cut short as his body cracked and was sucked away into the blonde’s gargantuan clam. For a few seconds, Mirca’s womb bulged like a barrel, then the magic had run its course, fizzled and was gone, together with the bloat around her waist and the monstrosity of her hips and crotch. Only her breasts quaked a little longer before they settled back to slow, pulsing wavefronts wandering over the walls of skin.

Mirca blinked in bewilderment through her cleavage.

"Oh? What happened? Where did he go? It just started to feel really good—"

Yrba stared at the matted golden curls. She had a very clear recollection of where he had gone. Her face was an unblinking mask except for a nervous twitch in her right cheek. Clear, lubricating ooze dripped by the handful from Mirca’s crotch. It ran down the marble pedestal in elongating threads, and embedded in the sludgy, half-frozen waterfall were the cracked fragments of white rings.

Yrba rolled around and heaved. She knew that the sight of Carwon’s body collapsing into itself as he was mauled and sucked down the slimy gullet would haunt her for the rest of her life.

No pussy ever again, she shivered, no way. Not even a rub. Only men from now on. I swear! Not even a thought of licking, no, never ever.

Compared to beheading or being quartered or about half a dozen other messy executions she’d witnessed, this spell was clean, though. There was nothing left behind.

"Yrba..."

She froze and held her breath. It couldn’t, it just couldn’t be — the magic had disappeared, she had seen —

"Yrba, come here..."

Ice ran down her spine.

The voice — no, not again! Oh heavens, no, mercy —

"Yrba! Hey! Come on! Are you deaf? I can’t move, but I can at least untie your hands!"

The witch dared to breathe again as she recognized the voice for just the normal, goofy Mirca she knew. She ducked beneath the boob wall, turned around and held her hands out. The blonde needed a few tries, but she finally managed to open the knot. Yrba massaged some feeling back into her numb fingers.

"Yrba, what happened to Carwon? One moment he’s there, the next—"

No need to bother Mirca with all that, she thought. She grabbed her friend’s head with both hands and whispered, "Sleep now. Forget."

The blonde’s head fell back. Her mouth opened. Moments later, she started to snore.

Chapter 68: Chain Reaction

Yrba shook her head, sighed and grabbed her temples as she slumped down by the side of the marble block and leaned her back against the cool stone. Two breasts like huge buildings, stuck in a crater and about to burst. A pussy eating up anything that got too close. That kind of trouble went way beyond her knowledge. She’d need a miracle to get this sorted out. All right, the pussy problem had resolved itself. Hopefully. She looked over her shoulder.

No, pussy’s gone by now. Typical. The one problem I had a faint chance of actually handling did so by itself. And the big one …

She glanced around at the white skin walls of the cleavage cavern they were in. The snail-paced avalanche of unstoppable boob flesh had throbbed over most of the doors by now. The only exit left was the one near Carwon’s desk. She let her head sink back and sighed.

Popping them, like in the clearing? No, no way. It would kill us both under the landslide. What to do, what to do...

Her eyes grew big.

Doesn’t matter any more.

The room seemed to light up. Yrba noticed the change of color in the magic’s shine. This sign she knew all too well. Whenever a spell was ready, it would do this.

The groan of the wooden struts changed. Crackling noises started. She turned around and saw the first pillar collapse. The two giant orbs of white flesh, brimming with magic and milk, slapped into each other. The cave-in progressed. One by one, the wooden poles snapped and were crushed to splinters in the enormous vise of augmented boob flesh. The tunnel to the exit turned into a shrinking cave with every meaty slap of colliding breasts, and the far wall came closer and closer.

What had Carwon said? Once she blows, she’ll wipe out all of the shire. She’ll paint the sky with milk. She stood up and stooped over Mirca, resting her forehead on the sleeping blonde’s with the smell of the golden-silver hair in her nose.

"I’m sorry, girl," she whispered as tears crept down her cheeks. "I failed you. I won’t leave you. I promised. I couldn’t live with knowing I abandoned you. Maybe this is better. At least it’ll be over in a flash."

She gulped, then raised her hands and caressed Mirca’s cheeks with the backside of her fingers.

"There are things I never told you. What —"

She suddenly spun around. Her right leg flew up and hit the shadow that had been creeping up on her. Kicked straight in the well-padded chest, the hooded attacker somersaulted and slammed down heavy on the sand floor. Her (definitely her, for Yrba had felt the yielding softness on the sole of her foot) knife skidded out of reach.

"— the fuck do you think you’re doing?" barked the witch and quickly wiped the tears from her face with her lower arm.

"It’s not fair!"

The figure curled up and began to sob, with a much too high-pitched whine.

"Yolanda? Again?!"

The girl staggered to her feet, pulled the hood from her head and cast hateful glances to the sleeping Mirca while she clutched her breasts, aching from Yrba’s kick.

"She’s stolen this from me! I wanted to become the next goddess! You know what I did? I’ve searched and swallowed every damn bottle of that accursed 'Mesdames Tincture' I could get my hands on, and —? Nothing! Not even close to her!" She pointed accusingly at the trembling walls of white that threatened to overcome the defiant resistance of the strutting any moment now. Yolanda grabbed her own massive pair of melons hard and jiggled them.

"These are the best I ever managed! What a joke! I’ve blown all my possessions for worthless lotions and tinctures and junk! I stole from Carwon’s treasures to pay for more of the tincture! I had hoped he’d point to me once I’d grown really big. And then she came along, with her blond hair and her endless legs and her taut tits! She had it made, and all she did was whine, whine, whine! I’d do anything to be in her place! Anything! That night you made me all stretchy and big for the milk, that was the best I ever felt!"

"Wait, what?" Yrba’s head jerked up and she raised a finger, pointing at the approaching white. "You’re serious? Think fast, girl. You really want all that? All that baggage? You know what happened to Carwon? You saw how wrong magic can go? Not freaked out by that?" She cracked her knuckles. "What’s your answer? We haven’t got much time!"

As if to underscore, the grooooaaaaan—crack—slap of another collapsing strut rang through the moment of silence. Yolanda stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the witch.

"Ohmigosh!" Yolanda slapped her hand over her mouth. "You’re serious?" she mumbled. And then her face did not just light up; it beamed with joy as she grabbed Yrba’s shoulders and shook her, almost screaming in the witch’s face, "You can make me as big as her? You would do that for me?"

"As big as her, and then some. Okay, the formal question: Do you want to take all this into you?" Yrba glanced at the huge orbs. Critical mass. No more room. Rising pressure. Inside, the magic started to react with itself. Hurry up, Yol, or we’re all dead!

"Of course I want it! I want it!" Yolanda splayed her arms wide. "Come on! Give it to me! Pump me up! Everything! Carwon? I’d have fed that bastard to my snatch one limb at a time for such a chance!"

"No! Not in here! Too many pointy rocks all around. You’d burst just like she’s about to! You know the tunnel to the ruins of old amphitheater?"

"That’s where I sneaked in."

Yrba made a gesture that reminded Yolanda of someone catching a rope floating in water. The witch closed her fingers around something invisible. For a moment, the maid felt an immaterial tug at her breasts and between her legs.

"Run there now! After the switch, that huge bowl will be a tight fit for you!"

"Oh wow! That big? Awesome!"

"Once this here blows, I’ll have to send the milk blast into you whether you’re there or not! If you bloat while you’re in the tunnel —"

Yolanda was already halfway to the small side door.

"I’ll make it in time! I promise!"

"And lose your dress on the way!" Yrba screamed after her, over the groan and creaking of the few remaining wooden struts. "Or I’ll lose it for you!"

Yolanda’s heavy melons bounced and bobbed in front of her as she pelted down the tunnel. The light at its end came closer and closer. There — was that already —? No. Her hooters just tingled and ached from the beating they took with every jump. She struggled with her one-piece cloth and tore with both hands at the neckline. Finally it ripped. Her next step caused her breasts to jump out. Unrestrained as they were now, their bouncing and bobbing became even worse, to the point where she felt her nipples slap against her ears. She tried to catch the flying masses and finally managed, clutching her pumpkins tight.

That little victory came at the price of her losing her balance. She tumbled head first out of the tunnel and into thin air. Below her yawned the hundreds of steep steps down the terraces of the theater.

That’s going to hurt —

Yrba held the immaterial, glowing, lengthening strands that led from her hand to Yolanda’s body. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her words weren’t exactly a spell now. It was a beg, an admittance of defeat.

Magic is fierce. Nobody can tame it. Nobody can restrain it.

Magic flows. It flows to where it finds a home.

Magic, I hereby offer you a willing home. Spare my friend.

She lowered her head, held her arms up and raised the ethereal strands in her hands to the rumbling, trembling walls of breasts all around. The whipping tails touched the straining skin and forked into a spreading mesh of pulsating roots.

Underneath her, the ground started to shake. The pent-up milk and magic bursted into a white hot flash of light that filled the crater. It grabbed the witch and threw her backwards until she came to an awkward rest, at the end of a groove in the sandy floor.

White pulses consumed the mountainous breasts from the inside out. Yrba rose from her back and struggled onto her left elbow while she lifted her right hand to shield her eyes. The air in the cavern crackled and sparkled. Like man-sized drops of water, the magic charges throbbed along the strands and down the corridor.

Yrba felt the ethereal eddies and gusts rushing by, tugging at her skin, draining away her strength. The scene danced before her eyes, and before she collapsed, her last thoughts were:

I hope you’re ready for what you’re about to receive, Yolanda ...

— like hell! Yolanda screamed unarticulated in a desperate shriek at the top of her lungs while she fell down the steep drop. Then the world around her turned silent, and time slowed down. She looked back along her body and blinked. The chestnut-haired girl hung motion- and weightless, suspended in a beam of glaring light that poured out of the narrow tunnel. Moments later, along followed a ball of white-hot magic, a yard across. It came right for her. She closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, unsure about what to expect.

The energy slowly tingled and crept over the insides of her legs and forced them apart. Her thighs in their V posture were a neat funnel for the glob of light. It readily clung to her skin and followed the guiding rails. Yolanda gasped as the living heat touched her crotch. She bent her knees until she stuck on its spherical skin like sitting on a huge ball with her legs spread wide apart. The warm, ethereal goop melted into the folds of her cave and pressed harder and harder against her intimate opening. A gasp, a moan, a squelch, and her nether lips stretched huge as the sphere ripped, gushed into her and filled up her womb with fire. The heat rose over her skin and streamed into her breasts. She let go of her boobs to not burn the skin off her arms. Even with her arms spread wide, she still felt the radiating heat from the fire now trapped in her chest. Her skin grew taut as something inside her breasts hatched.

And what hatched was more breast. Within moments, the expanded volume became part of her, she felt her senses, her nerves extend into it, it was more of her, more cozy room for more of the same to come and nest in.

The next pearl of blistering energy already forced itself into her. It spread her labia, effortlessly now, and entered her as a long, thick bolt of heat and arousal. It penetrated her body, filled her skin with its feral energy and emptied itself into her breasts, swelling them further from the inside.

And the next.

And again.

She lost count and all restraint as normal time returned and things began to move even faster. Tumbling down in mid-air, her arms held out wide, her fall was gently caught by the soft mass of her breasts exploding from her chest. On contact with the ground, her nipples were painfully forced back into the expanding cloud of soft bosom flesh that hit the theater’s floor far ahead of her. She sank into the warm, stretching and yielding pillows and dared to open her eyes again.

Oh yes! Yes! That’s even better than the last time!

The chain of white orbs kept on bombarding her wide-open crotch, diving into her boiling womb one after another, and the rebound from her drop to the floor made her rise so quickly the air was pushed out of her lungs, along with her frantic cry:

"More! More! Up and awayyyy!"

With her arms and legs spread wide apart, she held on to her own breasts that kept on growing, eagerly sucking up all the enchanted flesh and milk that Mirca could provide. Yolanda felt hollowed out, a thin stretch of skin over a bubbling ocean of magic.

The town! I can see the town from up here! And I’m still growing! This is awesome! More! Come on! There’s room in there! Yes! More!

Fill me! Fill me up! Fill me all the w—

Oh gods. No. No! What’s happening? Now they’re getting taut. They’re gonna —!

Her eyes widened. The air in the amphitheater was filled with the din of old stone pillars crashing down, shoved aside by her expanding breasts. And above that, the gurgle and rumble of huge amounts of liquid in motion. And above that, there was the horrible creaking and squeaking that grew louder and louder until she couldn’t hear anything else; until her eyes saw nothing but veined, throbbing, milk-white skin extending from her chest towards the horizon, glistening in the pearly sheen of tautness, and the blue, cloudless sky above, growing nearer.

Heavens! It’s too much! Too much! I can’t —

Chapter 69: Several Uprisings

"Wakey, wakey, rise and shine, dear," twittered Yrba’s piercing falsetto.

Mirca groaned. "Go — away. You know I won’t get up any time soon."

Yrba laughed. "I’m not so sure about that." She clapped her hands. "Maids, dress the queen!"

Mirca jumped up. Her breasts sloshed along. "Dress? I didn’t fit into a dress for months!"

She stared in disbelief at her body. Were her breasts still grotesque? Definitely. But these were because they were but empty bags of skin that hung to her thighs.

"What — how — heavens! You did it! I don’t know how, but you did it! You’ve got to tell me how you did it!"

"All in due time, my dear. Once you’re decent," as far as that’s possible, she added in the privacy of her head, "I’d like you to meet Yolanda and thank her for that."

"Yolanda?"

"Yes. Awesome, that girl. Took in all you could dish out. Though it was a pretty close call, for an hour or two. But we’ve managed to free her nipples from beneath her breasts so she could get a little release. Amazing, what a lever — or twenty — can do. The first boat with barrels of milk is going to arrive around noon, and they’ll distribute it to the townspeople. We’ll have enough to go around, even for the whole winter. No more half-starved faces. One less thing to worry about."

The door was thrown open. A maid, with a fresh bruise on her cheek and a blackening eye, her dress torn, a badly scratched breast hanging out, rushed through.

"Goddess! Witch! Quick, we need you! The villagers! They’ve broken down the gate!"

Through the open door rang the distant din of an angry crowd. Yrba spun to the blonde who rose to her feet, and hissed nervously:

"Fuck! They haven’t heard the news, I guess, and after that discharge of magic, I surely wouldn’t bet my life on the sympathy in your milk. Can’t reason with a mob! Come on! We’ve got to sneak out while we can! They’ll surely calm down once the new milk arrives. That’s not our problem!"

Mirca shook her head before she calmly spoke.

"Yes, you’re right, it’s not our problem." She straightened herself and combed her ruffled hair back. Reaching for the tiara by her bed, she continued, "It’s my problem. These are my girls, and I will not have them getting beaten and violated."

Yrba’s eyes met hers, and, slowly, the witch’s face changed into a smile. Mirca stood on her own feet now, in more than one regard. Yrba nodded to the proud and solemn figure.

Oh how they grow so quickly, don’t they? Before you know it, they’re ready to soar and walk their own roads. 

Mirca swayed just a little bit when she stomped into the main hall. They were waiting for her, just about everybody from the town who was still strong enough to walk. She raised her arms in a wide gesture, and her gown fell open along her chest.

"Silence! What is this? Your queen demands an answer! You, blacksmith! Speak!"

She sat down on the throne while the noise died down. Her flabby breasts slipped over her thighs and covered her crotch.

"Well? I’m waiting!"

"You? Who made you queen? Carwon is gone, and where are your divine powers now? Just look at you! The Goddess has left you, and sure as hell you can’t be queen of Ebron! The queen must have tits like that!" The angry man held his hands out as far as he could reach. "Not something like those flabby sacks, you drained, dried-up —"

Mirca ground her teeth and jumped up. "You spineless, ungrateful bastard!" She stamped towards him and felt her anger rising, something that hadn’t happen for months. The last veils of the magic that had kept her docile burned up in the heat of her newfound rage. "I’ll slap you silly with those dried-up sacks!"

He recoiled and dropped to his knees. "Mercy! Forgive this humble servant for ever doubting you!"

Mirca stopped and just then noticed the itching and straining in her breasts. She stared with a mixture of joy and fear at her boobs that kept on filling up at an alarming rate. Joy, because it felt as good as ever; and fear, because, where would they stop? Would they stop, this time?

And the moment she asked herself this question, the growth stopped, causing a slight quiver of inertia struggling against elasticity that ran back and forth over her skin.

All right ... uh, boobies, listen, g—grow?

The faint gurgling started anew. The orbs grew heavier, slowly starting to pull her down to the floor as her back began to ache and her stooping became worse.

Stop! ... smaller? Just so much that I can stand straight!

A gush of warm milk ran from her nipples and down the breasts, tickling her skin.

Oh wow. Oh wow! I’ve got a hold on myself again! Yrba’s going to be so proud of me! No, don’t giggle! Try to look regal! Boobies, you spurt until you’re down to — all right, wheat sacks should do for now. And tighten up, for heaven’s sake!

She stared down on the trembling man and straightened up to her full height, with a gleam in her eyes. A murmur of "Oooh" and "Aaaah" rose from the crowd as her breasts sprayed on and on, soaking the crouching figure in front of her while climbing into a bullet shape that not just defied, but ridiculed gravity.

"Robert the blacksmith, I’ll let your insolence slide just this one time. Remember, I know where you live." She looked up into the faces of the townspeople. "I let you down, all of you. I won’t let that happen again. Listen up! Go down to the harbor! Tell everyone! By noon, there will be enough milk to go around. Nobody will hunger, not today, not come next winter. But if you ever dare to mock me again, my breasts will come after you and crush you! Out now! The lot of you!"

Yrba sat down on the stairs of the throne. She looked down on her hands resting on her knees and sighed. Then she pushed down with her arms and stood up.

"Well, congratulations on you remaining the Queen of Ebron! I guess now you won’t need my help any more. Oh, and — I’m proud of you. The show just now, that was a mighty fine command you’ve got over your milkies. You sure have grown a lot, in many ways."

"No! Don’t leave! What do I know about running a country? I need your advice more than ever."

"You’re asking me for advice on that? Girl, what do I know about running a country? You’re as good as I when it comes to a stern voice and the physical intimidation, even more so. There’s nothing left for me to teach you."

She kept walking towards the big gates, all the while talking over her shoulder.

"I’ll be back next year. Give it a try. Now that you’ve got a grip on your bloat again, you can sneak out the backdoor and make a living hiding in the woods, anytime you please. At least that’s something I was able to teach you."

Mirca laughed. "Yes, but I don’t think I’ll do that. I’ve got to take care of Yolanda. She must be totally helpless, and, well, I’m kind of responsible. I won’t leave by myself. They’ll have to drive me out."

Yrba nodded. "Uh, Yolanda. Damn. Well," she hesitated, "You’re right. I guess I’ll have to stay around too, then."

"No. Don’t. I — I order you to leave the palace. Go your ways. Begone. Whatever," Mirca sighed.

"Wait, what?" Yrba turned around and stared at her with wide eyes.

"Oh shut up! You know as well as I do, you’ve already made promises to your clients and you’ve got your deliveries to make. You want the road. Maybe some day, when you decide you’re getting too old for all the traveling and you’re free from those duties — you’ll always be welcome —"

She sniffed and held her hand over her eyes. "Go now. Please, before I —," she quietly added.

"I will. And, maybe, someday ..."

Yrba bit her lip, then she straightened her back, turned and walked out into the bright sunshine.

Chapter 70: A Prince In Time

The first stumbling block on the way waited for her the very moment she turned around after closing the palace doors behind her. Yrba recoiled when she found herself only inches from the wrong end of a polished, sparkling blade.

"Begone, foul creature of the night, lest I run you through!" barked a voice.

As insults and threats went, that one left Yrba unimpressed. She looked along the sword pointing at her face and ran her mental checklist.

Blond hero? Check.

Noble steed? Check.

Prince and/or knight? Check.

Clever? The hell with it, he scored three out of four already!

Her face relaxed. She smiled at him and waved with her hand.

"I never thought I’d say this to a man, but you’re too late. Come on, put that toothpick away and lower your shield. If you’re looking for the damsel in distress, she’s in there."

She pointed over her shoulder towards to the palace door.

"We don’t have foul creatures of the night around here. We’ve had a bad case of the viziers. And you’re late for that, too, the grand vizier’s dead already. You just need to court the queen a bit and then help her with running the country."

Might be a lot harder than just parading around in a polished armor, boy. Then again, with that noble sign on your shield, you look like you’re at least a bit familiar with politics and you’ve got a loud voice. Not too shabby.

"What?" he asked in a puzzled voice and lifted the visor on his helmet. Bright blue eyes and a smooth face with a strong jaw. Yrba pursed her lips.

"Oh great. You’re the youngest of three brothers, right?" And you’re about Mirca’s age. Good.

"Uh, yes, but I don’t see why —," he stuttered as his nervously darting eyes found her neckline and got lost in her cleavage.

"Just go in there, boy. And enter slowly. She needs a friend more than a hero, all right? Hey, do you like really big boobs?"

He blushed, but straightened himself.

"A prince doesn’t answer to these impertinent questions!"

Yrba lowered her voice in mock seriousness.

"Of course not." She chuckled and leaned to him. "Your blushing is good enough an answer for me."

"Uh, so, I — so, she’s a princess, right? I mean, that’s what it’s supposed to be, and —"

Yrba frowned. "Well, she hasn’t been queen for long, I guess that still counts —"

"Good, good." The young man looked almost sick now. "Uh, and — and she’s a virgin, r—right?"

The witch stood akimbo. "A virgin? What kind of question is that, you impudent—"

He shrank right in front of her. "I — sorry, I, — err—"

Yrba rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right. Listen, she’s much better than a simple virgin. She’s educated." She winked and cast a quick glance over him, and smiled as she continued, "And I can guarantee, if you court her nice and friendly, that there will be a virgin in your wedding bed."

She stepped on down the stairs, past the dazzled, thwarted wannabe hero. With every step, she smiled a bit more until she grinned ear to ear. I really hope his other lance is up to the task, too. Between Mirca and Yolanda, he might even get two for the price of one.

Yrba heard the creaking of the huge door, Mirca’s husky "Ooh Hel–lo", his exclamation of "Goodness gracious!" and the clanging of his shield as it dropped to the marble floor.

She laughed as she danced down the last steps.

Yrba was checking her horse’s harness when he came running after her, knelt down before her and grabbed her hand.

"I must apologize. I didn’t realize you were the royal counselor. She —"

He rubbed his cheek that had started to glow in a deep reddish tone except for the five pale prints of spread fingers.

"— uh, was quite explicit about her opinion towards me, brushing you off like that."

Yrba chuckled, struggling to keep a straight face. She nodded.

"Yes, that’s one of her virtues. She doesn’t beat around the bush."

"She told me to tell you that you’ll always be welcome here whenever you choose to visit. And me, I need to thank you for — I don’t know. For the 'enter slowly' advice or whatever. Heavens, I — my heart almost stopped when I — And she’s so tall! One could get lost in her! And have you seen her, uh, you know, her — her — they’re ginormous!"

"Seen them? Boy, I made them. Play your cards right, and you might feel them soon. And what you’ve seen wasn’t even the first of it."

He stared at her, speechless, then fumbled for his pouch and pulled from it a shining plate, embossed with a coat of arms.

"Take this as a token of my gratitude. It’ll make traveling a lot easier for you, I assume. Any companion of this divine beauty is more than worthy to become an honorary advisor to the shire of Barenia, too."

"Barenia, uh-huh. Big shire. You’ve made quite a journey. First time for everything, eh?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Is this your first time abroad, boy?"

He glanced around. The courtyard was empty. His posture deflated with a sigh, and he fidgeted with his fingers.

"Uh, yes. Hey, listen, I — I’m doing this all wrong, I just know it. I hate this grandstanding, okay? You know, like you said, youngest prince and stuff. I mean, my father, he practically forced me to go and slay something evil, as if that’s any qualification to run a country! Not a clue about bookkeeping or planning ahead, those kings, it’s all just jousting and parading, and he wonders why there’s a famine every now and then! These are dark ages indeed. I mean, look at the old empire! They knew how to run a country! Well, except for the invading and stuff, that obviously didn’t work so well. I’ve read all about it."

He rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

"You’ve got to excuse me now. She told me to come back immediately, and I don’t want to anger her —"

"Oh, you’ll be doing great, pal! The two of you are made for each other, believe me!"

And off he was, scampering back up the stairs. Regally scampering, of course.

My blond charger and that brainy guy! I guess he’s earned another check mark in the 'clever' row, and we’re good to go at four of four points.

And this little trinket here —

Yrba pouched the seal and barely hid her glee. Yes, this would come in handy at just about every border in the whole country. Barenia not only was the biggest shire far and wide, it also was well-known for its hostile attitude towards those who did not respect the men and women traveling under its seal of protection.

The gypsy climbed on her caravan’s coach box and pulled out a drinking bag. Raising it towards the palace, she took a big gulp and declared:

"Well, here’s to another happy end for the books."

She clicked her tongue and worked the reins. 

"Get going, horsey!"

The shire horse snorted and leaned its massive weight into the harness. Hundreds of tiny vials jingled in their boxes in the back of the wagon as it set itself into motion.

"High time to do something about all those other poor flat-chested girls out there," grinned Yrba, reached for her pouch and bit down on a fresh stalk as she leaned against the gently rocking wall in her back.

And the caravan rolled on through the gate, onto the vast pastures and towards the setting sun.

Chapter 71: Rekindled Flames

Yrba didn’t get very far that day. Two hours later, at noon, her cart rocked through a small village in the next valley when a loud whistle called after her.

"Stealing away again, old crone?" yelled a cheerful voice.

Yrba pulled at the reins and turned in her seat to peek around the corner of her caravan. A curvy brunette, maybe a tad older than the gypsy but in prime shape nonetheless, slunk hip-swayingly over to her, and her buttock’s rolling motions sent her flared skirt flying and made her propped-up ample cleavage quiver. She put her hands on her narrow waist. Cocking her head and shaking her long brunette hair out of her face, she raised her eyebrows.

"Patra?" the witch gasped disbelievingly. A nod, and the stacked waylayer smiled broadly, winking at the gypsy. Yrba’s former servant no longer wore her hair tied back, but let it flow in a thicket of curls, and that made all the difference. Well, that, and about six or seven well-placed extra pounds on her frame, together with her bare, toned arms. She was all woman now and not a single bit of a demure maid any more. Grabbing the caravan’s corner with one hand, Patra pulled herself up to Yrba and poked her forefinger into the witch’s yielding breast.

"You did something big again, didn’t you? Rumors are flying everywhere, and I won’t let you leave until you tell me all about it!"

Yrba sighed theatrically, but she already chuckled as she turned her caravan around.  

It was near sunset when Yrba finished her story. Despite Patra’s pleading to stay with her for the night while her husband was away, the witch bid goodbye and set up camp a few minutes’ ride outside of the town in a secluded clearing. At one time, hoofbeats passed in the distance, but apart from that, no other sounds disturbed the bird calls that turned into the chirps of crickets as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The dark-skinned gypsy yawned and stretched her limbs. She wrapped herself up in a blanket and laid down by the fireside, stirring the embers. Rolling on her back, she watched the twinkling red dots of the sparks rise into the starry night sky. Tomorrow would bring new faces and new places. Tonight was a night for contemplation.

She must’ve dozed off. When Yrba startled awake, the thin sickle of the moon shone high in the sky, and the fire had gone out. For a few moments, she held her breath and listened, waiting for her instincts to tell her whether all was well or not.

It was not, but it was her eyes that told her so.

A motionless shadow blotted part of the night sky. It towered over her, standing by her head. The witch was shell-shocked. For years, she had relied on her intuition to give her an early warning, and never before had it failed her like that. Neither beast nor thief had ever managed to sneak up on her in her sleep.

The hoofbeats. Dammit, should’ve been much more wary. I’m getting old. Might not get much older, though — 

In the split second that Yrba needed to overcome her abject terror and make up her mind, the stranger moved with skill and determination. Heavy weight bore down on her, and strong hands grabbed her wrists and pinned the squirming witch to the ground.

"Don’t do something we’ll both regret," grunted the hooded intruder.

Yrba froze. She realized that her instincts would’ve warned her of bad things, so they just had to fail this time.

"Mirca?!" she managed to squeeze through her choked-up throat.

The massive shadow turned about and sat up, draging Yrba into her bosom’s envelope as she gave her a rib-crushing embrace.

"Oh sweetie, you came after me!" groaned the witch, still struggling for air. "So, who’s the next goddess?"

Yrba snuggled closer to her giantess’ warm body. Mirca sat cross-legged and held her friend tight in front of her, with Yrba’s back against the ribbed muscles of the athletic woman’s midriff, framing Yrba’s head in her bosom like a wing chair. The witch rubbed her cheek against the pillowy breast to her right, and her nails tickled the strawberry nipple through the queen’s clothes. Somehow, Mirca had managed to shrink her bust down to a pair of armfuls, and to find a mount sturdy enough to carry the weight of her breasts and herself out into the woods in time.

Mirca’s fingers played in the thick wool of her friend’s mane while they faced the rekindled campfire. The proud amazon cleared her throat.

"Uh—"

The witch lowered her head and sighed.

"I understand. This is just a visit. You’re not here to stay. So what’s so urgent that it can’t wait until I stop by your palace again?"

"Well, er, I … when you left, it felt, I dunno, wrong, just seeing you go, what with all the things you did for me, but I … I didn’t know what to do or say, and so many things had happened today, my head was in a daze. And then you were gone, but I remembered … Something’s changed ever since I woke up. It’s easy now for me to remember things, like there’s a long painting in my head and I can just walk back to look at different parts of it. Weird." She gulped. "And there are parts I really don’t want to look at. Old stuff. Scary stuff."

Her strong fingers caressed Yrba’s chin and turned the gypsy’s head. Their eyes met.

"Anyway, you were gone, and that cute prince was off to bring me flowers, and I was just sitting all alone in one of the warm pools, when all of a sudden …" Mirca hesitated and smiled. "Do you still think of that night in Red’s bath?"

Yrba purred like a cat in heat. "Rrrowrrr. Do I ever!"

The giantess’ voice grew husky. "You asked me then to finish what I had started, but I was too tired, and then you looked so lost and all alone in that tub, like you really wanted to join us but somehow had missed the right oppor—o—to—tu — the right time." Her big yet feminine hands, two bright spots against Yrba’s dark skin in the flickering light of the campfire, wandered lower and dove into the tight neckline of the smaller woman in her lap. The witch’s soft, heavy breasts flowed into the tall young woman’s palms as she cupped the taut, round undersides and lifted the melons from their confinement. Her thumbs dug into the malleable flesh, and Yrba’s nipples swelled in aching anticipation.

"I’m not tired now, and this time, the time is right," whispered Mirca. "And I’ve brought help. Look."

Five white togas flared up against the blackness of the forest as their bearers shed their brown cowls and stepped into the red shine of the fire. Two of the women held big vases in their hands. Yrba’s nostrils picked up the heavy smell of warm, scented oil.

"I think I told you about moo-sage and all that stroking and kneading, didn’t I? They’re the best at it, and they’re not shy to touch our fun parts either."

The smallest of the maids stepped up and took the robe from Mirca’s naked shoulders. Beads of oil dripped over the queen’s copper-toned skin, and several hands spread the glistening coating across her chest and abs as she leaned back and dragged Yrba down on top of her.

Lubed fingers sneaked into the witch’s tight bodice, expert hands opened the knots and buttons on her dress and peeled the constraining clothes from her curvy form. She didn’t notice the disappearing of her skirt, because at that time, warm slender fingers tickled and rubbed the curls of her crotch, diving time and again through the inner and outer lips.

"For Sophia, who you saved in the library," a voice whispered into the gypsy’s ear, and a kneading hand wandered up her thigh while a burning mouth kissed its way over her shoulder blades.

"For Patra, who you restored," breathed another voice, and another hand caressed Yrba’s spine.

"For Yolanda, who you saved from herself." Two fingers, hot and slippery, spread her cave, and playful teeth dug into her fleshy buttocks. Yrba moaned helplessly.

"For all of us, for the things you did, never asking for a reward." The liquid that dripped on her back was different now, chilly and much thinner, sending a shiver down her spine. Moments later, her skin began to crawl with an all-too-familiar sensation.

"M—milk?! Unnnh—!" she gasped, while many hands rubbed it into her skin, and more of it was poured over her spine, collecting in the depression on the short of her back, only to be rapidly absorbed into her quirky physique under the caressing touches. 

The hands wandered over her flanks and under her belly. Fingers spread wide, lifting her torso upright while holding her breasts like a living bustier. Two more hands appeared, holding her head and blindfolding her.

"What are you doing to m—mmmh!?"

Slender fingers stroked Yrba’s trembling jaw, grabbed her cheeks and squeezed gently to make her plump lips pout. An earthen jug was pressed against them and was lifted higher, drenching her face and spilling from her mouth over her chin. Another hand grabbed her throat and massaged it, making her gulp down the white tide to the last drop.

"Urrrrp!" Yrba burped loudly. "Oh heavens, that much milk, you’ll turn me into a cow! Don’t you kn—uuughh!"

Yrba’s breasts woke. Panting and with her eyes closed, she squirmed on the living, muscle-stuffed mattress of her friend’s tall body. A pair of hands tended each of her swelling udders, while the huge palms cupping Yrba’s firm buttocks and rubbing her swollen pussy lips up and down over the amazon’s golden curls and erect thumb-sized clit were very definitely those of Mirca herself. Yrba drew up her legs, clutching the giantess’ flanks in their vise while the maids’ hands lowered her back down on the burning body. She gasped for air as her hard nipples brushed against Mirca’s. Moments later, she sank into the yielding pillows of her friend and moaned with lust, only to be silenced as her mouth overflowed with her beloved pupil’s mammoth tongue that spread her lips wide. The witch’s hands slithered over Mirca’s breasts. Her fingers twisted and pinched the tall young woman’s strawberry nipples while her own slowly bloating mammaries were gently pulled out sideways. Warm lips devoured her throbbing nipples and drew tiny jets of milk from the rough nubs. Oh yes, Mirca was right, the girls were good. Yrba drifted through a fog of bliss as if Patra’s fingers from months ago had returned fourfold, relieving her full udders of their sweet and ample load in dexterous strokes, raining her nurturing gift all over Mirca’s giant shape.

Yrba fought for her breath.

"Please, gimme a break!" she gasped. From one second to the next, the hands disappeared.

"Anything you command, mistress!" whispered the chorus of voices.

Yrba rolled off Mirca’s splayed shape and came to a rest on her back, side by side with her oversized pupil. Every few seconds, a shiver of expansion ran through her heavy, sagging boobs as her body made the generous supply its own. The witch’s hands circled the visible bulge on her own midriff in engrossed delight, and the giantess watched her from the corner of her eyes. She reached out and poked playfully into the little mound.

"You like your belly big and round, don’t you?" echoed Mirca’s voice in Yrba’s ears.

"The — the stomach, not so much," gasped the witch. "Makes my tits bloat too fast. See how much I’ve already put on?"

Mirca ran her fingers over the already leaking nipples before she dug them into the dark brown meat on Yrba’s midriff and pulled gently, watching the skin stretch in her grip.

"Little rubber witch likes it in the womb, then?" she whispered. "Like when I filled you with all the glowy goodness from that huuuuge cauldron?"

"Uh—huuunhh," groaned Yrba, close to losing it yet again. 

"You heard her, girls!" called Mirca.

The world spun around Yrba as hands grabbed her, turned her over and put her on her hands and knees. Fingers pressed on the short of her back and two hands spread her buttocks, making her plump labia bulge out of her hindquarters. Groaning and stretching noises filled the air. Yrba looked over her shoulder. Mirca’s left breast filled up rapidly, crawling over the ground as it outgrew a yard’s length and rose higher than Yrba’s hips. Right in the center of the dark areola on the expanding orb, the coarse nipple sprouted into a fat teat, forming a half-inch hole in its tip. Thick white liquid ran from the approaching rod.

"No! Mirca, no!" The witch jerked in her friend’s hands. The giantess’ unyielding grip locked her thighs in place and pulled Yrba’s crotch closer to the elongated uber-melon and its long, dripping, bobbing teat.

"Don’t worry," chuckled the tall young woman. Her eyes closed halfway as she focused, and the shape of her left breast rose and stretched from elongated to bottle-shaped, adapting to better fit between her witch-friend’s legs. "I’ve trained the whole afternoon, I can hold it at any size I want, to half an inch! Girls, tell her —"

"It’s true," whispered the maids stroking Yrba’s body. "The forest is full of clearings now, and of milk ponds! The goddess is strong in our queen! She’ll be strong in you, too!"

Slippery oil coated slender fingers before they started their journey over Yrba’s crotch. More of the warm lubricant was poured over Mirca’s teat. The tip made contact. Yrba’s breathing stopped.

It slipped into her, long and thick and massive. And it was good.

"Unngh!" groaned Mirca. "You’re like a clamp on my nipple! Hold on, I’ll start with just a little dribble —"

She closed her eyes and stroked the resilient skin of her breast. The teat wormed deeper into the entrance of the boiling cave between the witch’s legs. Yrba’s labia stretched thinner around its swelling shape. The witch swayed, transfixed by another delirious climax, while her love canal filled up slowly with Mirca’s creamy white juice.

"F—Full," gasped Yrba.

Mirca’s fingertips touched the gypsy’s soaked pubes.

"Then let it in deeper," whispered the giantess. Her middle finger joined her swollen teat in the tight envelope of Yrba’s struggling vagina. She ran her fingertip over the front wall of the ribbed cave, tracing Yrba’s lust knob from the inside. Every gentle stroke and push made the hollow muscle relax a little more. The first thin jets of Mirca’s dammed-up warm milk pushed through Yrba’s defiant cervix and spattered like burning sparkles against the walls of her womb. Mirca added her thumb, clamping down on Yrba’s clit from the outside, too. That was enough.

"Haaaaahhh—!" Yrba’s brown eyes grew wide, and her muscles grew limp. The dam broke. The flood rushed in. The small mound on her midriff quickly turned into a fluttering, half-melon sized bulge and kept on growing as the giantess rocked into her. Another shiver raced through the expanding gypsy when her navel rode out over her knees and into the soft grass. She cradled her tautening womb. The maids pulled her upright, one to each side grabbing her thighs and spreading them apart for Mirca’s elongated teat to all the better squirt into her.

"B—boobs, my b—boobs, they’ll burst, I can’t hold that much—," groaned Yrba.

"You won’t have to hold it, just relax and let it flow —," whispered the chorus of the maids’ disembodied voices. Soothing oil dripped over the witch’s chocolate jugs before several hands kneaded and squeezed the excited orbs, loosening Yrba’s skin for the impending swelling. Yrba twitched each time her breasts’ undersides came to rest on her belly’s orb.

Slowly, Mirca’s breast grew soft under the witch. Yrba’s legs gave in. Her firm buttocks sank into the soft cushion of Mirca’s mammary, and the spent teat popped from her crotch. The witch fell forward. Her potbelly dropped into the waiting hands of the giantess.  

"Yes, that’s like the one time with your cauldron," moaned Mirca, pressing her face into the yielding pillow, and the vibrations of her throaty voice through the orb of barely contained milk sent Yrba over the edge again.

Her belly’s oil-covered skin glistened and mirrored the campfire’s flames on its taxed, taut curve. Too many different sensations fought for her oversexed brain’s attention. Hands, many, many hands, all over her, Mirca’s burning lips on her bulging bellybutton, the inhuman tongue of the giantess that rolled and slithered snake-like over her skin. Yrba was trapped in a world of inflaming touches. With each finger, with each lip, with each tongue-tip pressing against her body, she felt filled closer to the brim, more and more and more.

Mirca’s strong arms lifted her up, oblivious to the sloshing weight in her womb. They turned her around, handled her like she was nothing but a bag of milk, and then Mirca’s head forced its way in between Yrba’s thighs. The giantess lifted the witch’s crotch against her lips, her tongue crept out, pressing against the front of the labia, and then she drew her first gulp from the living, wiggling, shivering vessel that once was Yrba.

It was too much, simply too much. Yrba burst, squeezing a bolt of hot milk into Mirca’s face. The tall amazon’s lips pouted against the fluttering nozzle of skin and swallowed her own milk that came shooting out of the witch’s stretched cave. Yrba felt herself draining away into that greedy throat. 

Yrba lost all sense of time. She climaxed, one time, then another, then — then she didn’t bother to count. Hands caressed her, fingers pinched her nipples, to each simple touch she came, panting and moaning. The tongue, the giant tongue slithered into her crotch, and she came again, howling, screaming, drenching Mirca’s face with pent-up milk. Mouths, too many mouths at once, wandered over her body, they halted to devour her milk-spewing teats, they sprouted tiny tongues that dug into her navel or chewed on her labia, and she came again. Her belly shrank, slowly, with every deep gulp that those mouths drew from her soppy crotch, with every squeeze that sent a torrent of boiling milk over her limp thighs, and each time her straining midriff contracted and shuddered closer to its proper shape, she came again. Hands held her breasts, held her while she overflowed their grip with her stretching, expanding mammaries that soon dangled from her chest like unmilked brimming udders. The gallon of glands in them feasted on the rich supply in her womb and pumped up her breasts’ spongy tissue. Two hands on each of her jugs turned into four when they outgrew melons and became pumpkins. She didn’t open her eyes any more, she just squirmed and twisted on the lubed-up bodies, feeling rough nipples as they were dragged over her, as they were pushed into her crotch, rubbed over her dripping crack, stuck into her mouth to fill her up again. Yrba was happily reduced to three milk-processing orbs.

The witch gasped and jerked awake. The first red streaks of dawn filled the sky. Her bleary eyes wandered unsteadily and finally focused on Mirca’s face. She realized that the tall young woman had probably kept watch over her and had held her warm the whole night through, yet the huge smiling face showed no trace of tiredness.

"Morning, sleepyhead," whispered the giantess, stroking her mentor’s cheek. "Did you like my gift?"

Yrba licked her lips and nodded mutely.

"I better sneak back into the palace now. I don’t think the common folk will —"

"Highness, the bustier doesn’t fit yet. Lose another pint from them, if you please." 

"Oh, right, sorry, nnnngh! — Where was I? Ah, they won’t take too kindly to a queen that’s all out and about when it comes to nightly naughtiness," giggled Mirca as her maids dressed her, pushing and prodding and squeezing to wrap her back into her traveler’s clothes. "Promise you’ll come back next year? We can do this again in the royal bath! Just imagine!"

"Tempting. But what about your prince?" chuckled Yrba, watching the spectacle of five hectic maids buzzing about the towering lumberjack girl.

Mirca looked at her and frowned. "Oh. So you don’t want him to join us in the bath? He sure seems nice. How about I taste him for you first?"

The witch laughed. "I wouldn’t mind him doing an Alric on us, but I think he’s a bit too shy for that."

"Uh. Oh my. Yes. Hadn’t thought of that." Mirca scratched her head.

She beamed. "Bah, a whole year? I sure can teach him to like it by then! How hard can it be? Remember that farm boy? Nary an hour, and he got curious! And later you can teach him new tricks that I don’t know yet. So, promise you’ll come back?"

Yrba looked her up and down. Her teeth appeared in the twilight. "After that night? You cruel little tease, look what you’ve done. Now you’ve got me hooked on you again. Might even show up early — Oh come on, you clumsy bunch! Who taught you to dress people? Here, let me show you —"

Chapter 72: Epilogue

Feet rustled through the layer of rotting leaves on the cracked marble floor. A brown-skinned hand with well-groomed fingernails, the skin brightening towards the palm, rose to touch the soot-covered surface of a pillar. Gold bracelets, heavy and expensive, slipped down the toned forearm and rang quietly through the blazing red silk dress’ sleeve until they assembled in the bow of the woman’s elbow.

"Milady, please! You shouldn’t even be here. It’s unbecoming to a noblewoman to stroll around this cursed castle’s ruins!"

Lady Yrba turned her head and eyed her coachman’s face. Oh yes, he was such a handsome young guy and oh so stirringly worried about her safety and decency. She nodded to him.

"We’re all alone, and I’m not going to tell anyone. Are you?"

He stared at her, taken aback. "Milady—! I’d die sooner than betray you!"

"I know, darling, I know. Relax, nothing bad is going to happen. This place is dead and empty now. Last time I was around, just a few years ago …"

She hesitated. "I like this new look far better."

"But, they say, the giant demon, it might return …"

The witch’s fingers traced the pillar, right to the edge where the soot turned into glass and where the cold stone mimicked the sight of a half-molten candle, frozen streaks of dripping substance included.

"I’d have a few questions for her for sure, but I don’t think I’m going to get that lucky," she sighed under her breath and gazed out into the almost perfectly spherical hole where unearthly fire had vaporized the foundations of Lord Peter’s dungeons. Nothing grew down there, not even moss or weed, and maybe nothing ever would grow again in this weird, twisted place. She squinted. No ethereal beams, no gloss, no wisps of light. Even the ubiquitous background magic avoided this haunted place. Yrba looked at the thing in the palm of her hand and remembered …

The mayor’s wife had opened to her knocking and almost did a double take at the sight of the obviously wealthy stranger with the exotic dark brown skin. She left the witch standing in the doorway before Yrba could utter even a single word, and hurried away only to return moments later with a crock, its cork lid sealed by a thick layer of wax.

"A messenger brought this, last summer, and said I was to give it to the first Darkskin woman that comes knockin’. That’s all I know. Said you’d know what to make of it."

Yrba had given her a handful of coins in return. Inwardly, she still smiled. Barbara had waddled in a very special way, and her red face and the otherworldly grin told the witch that she finally had found the courage to confess a few things to her husband. And that the two had managed to learn how to do a few things together. Immense things, from the look of it.

Yrba raised her hand to her nose and inhaled the faint smell of the single lock of red hair in her fingers. That curl and a shard of the palace’s glassified stone had been the only things inside the earthen pot.

Good to know you survived this, Red. Wherever you are now.

She turned around with a sigh perched on the edge between relief and remorse and walked back to her six-horse carriage that gleamed like a pearl in the bright summer sunshine, the ambassador coat of arms being the sole colorful spec on its white coat. A last glance over her shoulder, and —

She stopped. Under her eye, a muscle twitched.

Then Yrba turned and leaned back, very, very carefully. She cowered, straightened up again, took a tiny step back and forth and then stood still, for almost a minute.

Her frown transformed into a smile, and slowly, her breathing changed into subdued chuckles and her lips curled back until her teeth flashed brightly. She threw her head in her neck and leaned against the nearest pillar, and her laughter echoed through the derelict hallways.

"Milady? What has come about you? You’re worrying me —"

Yrba gasped for air. "No need — to worry."

She regained her composure and straightened her dress.

"You wouldn’t happen to know the shortest way to the next port? I want a ship. As soon as possible. Seaworthy and fast. I’ll buy a ship and sail it alone if need be. As soon as we’re back with the entourage, you’ll send a messenger ahead."

"The next harbor is a week or two to the south. Why?" He gazed at the crater. "Did you see anything?"

She pointed into the rivulets and scorchmarks. "Oh yes. Oh yes! From the right point, from here, these scratches turn into letters. Into a poem."

"I don’t see any —"

"My homeland’s letters. You wouldn’t recognize them. Set sail from the smoking mountain’s coast for fifty leagues towards the rising sun, then half a league climb up the path and rest in the new refuge of the doves."

"That’s not much of a poem," he frowned.

Yrba rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Loses a bit in translation. Point is, I know where the smoking mountain is."

Fire. Fire and heat. Timbers crashing down. Molten rock creeping forward with no regard for fields nor houses nor life nor limb. Noxious smoke that replaced the air. Screaming people, runnning around blindly in the thick clouds of acid gas, with the burning breath of all-consuming hell down their necks. Then jerking awake, coughing and wheezing, all alone in a rocking boat out on the ocean. The mountain had devoured all that once was home.

Yrba shuddered and blinked as her thoughts returned to the here and now. High time for that old monster to pay off a little of its debt by serving as a lighthouse.

"Well? Let’s go!" She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows as she pointed over her shoulder, aiming her thumb at the coach.

He bowed and hurried ahead. A playful smile pursed her lips as she felt for the thin chain around her neck. The vial with fresh tincture dangled into her cleavage. Nobody had noticed the slight bulge of the Lady Ambassador’s belly over the last weeks. No need any more to waddle around, brewing tincture to serve hundreds. These days, moonshining a little of it every now and then for a few close friends went a long way.

Such a nice guy. And this journey’s the perfect time to show him that his mistress is more than just a rich woman with strange habits. So what if I’ve grown a bit too stretchy for my own good. Why not shape up the bolt to fit the nut? Ain’t no good screw if the fit’s not tight…

No way in hell would she translate the rest of the inscription, which, in far less flowery words, said: P.S. Things grow easily here. Even Li has beaten you now by far, you mad old cow. And don’t get me started about Charley’s new size. You gonna let that slide?

We’re waiting.

Miss you.

R.

THE END.

And as the credits roll, here are two more suggestions for a soundtrack:

"Call of the wild / in me forever and ever and ever forever / Wanderlust" — Nightwish, Wanderlust

"One day all the rules would bend / and you and I will meet again" — Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers, You And I Will Meet Again

Thank You: to the Overflowing Forum, and especially to those who were willing to invest considerable time to help me out by proof-reading at least parts of this tome, namely Kanodin, Splinter271 and Merkava. I’ve tried to take all of your suggestions and advice to improve my writing.

Thank You: to all those who were willing to rate and comment, especially to those who diligently commented on all or almost every part: Sucker4Boobs, Ninja In The Night, MadMacs2010.

Thank You: to the thousand people who kept on downloading part after part, even if you didn’t rate/comment on it. I hope you enjoyed tagging along with the witch and her companion, and I hope to see you soon in another story!

That’s it! The end of the longest, most involved fetish fantasy yarn I’ve ever written. And if you’ve followed the story up to here ... Well, then you know my compulsive begging for comments by now, and what chance could be better than this? :)

So why not go the extra mile and make this after-hour smut writer happy by typing a short comment at the URL below (no need to register or anything to do this), or in the Overflowing Forum? Come on. You know you want to. Praise, punishment or a resounding "meh", it’s your (anonymous) call. Didn’t like it at all? Tell me why! Who knows, I might actually improve in my writing.

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

My complete listing of texts is at

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. This here is "Yrba’s Travels, Part 12"

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’ (again), is all. ;)

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

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