FOREWORD: This is not a story for children. This is a story for consenting,
well-informed adults. If you are under the age of majority where you live,
read no further. Close the file, you scamps. If you are of age, believe you
keep an open mind, have some time to spare for reading, and you already have
some idea of what you're going to find between this sentence and the end of
the document, then come right in.

The Signal
by ChatterWhileSleeping

    "No! We cannot surrender!"
    "Yes, my girl, we must," her father replied. "We cannot hold the
battlements forever and the French are thinning our numbers with every passing
minute." As if to pound his point home, the sound of crashing and splintering
echoed over the gunfire from above as another cannonball tore through a wooden
barricade.  Beth hoped that the shot had been low enough to leave safe the
soldiers manning the wall.
    "If we surrender, the French will march straight through to the West! If
they are to be stopped, it must be here."
    "I know that, girl, but Fate has spoken. We are outnumbered and out-gunned.
The best we can do is to stay alive. As you say, if they are not stopped here
the Western encampments will not even dent their forces; there is nothing to
be gained in trading our men's lives for their munitions."
    "I will not be..."
    "Silence!" her father roared. "The decision is made! Campbell, tell
the African to ready his tincture. Wadsworth, get Elizabeth ready." Campbell
turned and left as Wadsworth gave her a pitying look. Beth sat silently
for a second as he took a step toward her, then shoved her chair back and
bolted for the door with all the speed she could muster. Without another word
from her father, Wadsworth's hand shot out and caught her as she passed him
by. He pulled her into a tight embrace against his broad chest. She kicked and
beat at him, considered biting him, but he was a beast of a man and her
slender body could not bear strength sufficient to give him pause.
    "I know I've raised you better than this," came her father's whisper in her
ear. "We always do what's necessary. Our family always has. Do me proud and
don't struggle like this." Beth stopped her flailing, but silently
resolved to take the next opportunity given her - what they were planning was
barbaric and she would have no part in it, duty or no. She remained calm as
Wadsworth pulled her off the ground and carried her from the room.
    Before reaching her quarters, she had persuaded him to let her walk for
herself. She considered making another run for it, but in truth there was
nowhere to go; anyone leaving the fort would surely be intercepted and she
would suffer any fate before falling into the well-manicured hands of the
French soldiers outside. Her thoughts on escape were interrupted as the door
to her chamber swung open. Priscilla stood in the frame, a look of
apprehension marring her pretty Hispanic features. She opened her mouth to
speak, but was interrupted by a particularly loud report from above.
"Milady..." she began again.
    "Hush, Priscilla. Be calm. Draw me a bath," Beth reassured her
maid. She entered, closing the door on Wadsworth, and began to disrobe as
Priscilla moved towards the fireplace and the pot kept there. As she unlaced
her corset, she was struck by the paleness of the skin beneath. These months
of siege had left her less time to walk in the sun; the milk-white surface of
her bosom would more befit a courtier in the Old Country than a Governor's
daughter. Stepping free of her petticoats, she walked nude to the pot
Priscilla had set. The girl had worry written on her face, but there was
nothing to say.  Beth's own stomach clenched as she struggled to stay focused
on the present. Her mind kept trying to roam to the future.
    Priscilla helped her bathe. As Priscilla brushed the long red strands of
her mistress' hair, Beth scrubbed up and down her own slender calves. By the
time Beth had finished every curve of her thighs and Priscilla had gone over
the blades of her shoulders a second time, they knew they could drag the
ritual out no longer. Beth caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror,
the other figure brown and voluptuous, her own body still female but slender
in comparison. They were a stark contrast; brown skin against pale, padded
curves against smooth compact ones, black locks against fiery red. She
realized this might be the last time they stood so close together. Without
thinking about the act, she hugged the maid.
    "Will milady be dressing for dinner?" Priscilla asked, her voice wavering.
    "No." One word said it all. Priscilla drew away from their embrace. Casting
her eyes to the floor, she turned and left the room. Beth took a drying-cloth
and sat naked on the bed. She halfheartedly rubbed it against herself and
listened to the murmured voices outside her door. Wadsworth raised his voice,
sounding insistent, even angry, but she could not make out the words through
the thick oak. Then the voices ceased. Beth stopped drying her stomach for a
moment, listening to the intermittent popping of gunfire above, the French
cannons adding their own emphasis to an already-ugly melody. As a globe of
water dropping from the end of her bangs caught her eye, Beth realized she had
been staring at the musculature of her abdomen for several minutes. It seemed
like such a waste; had she known things would come to this, she would have
eaten more chocolates!
    Her wistful thoughts were cut short by Priscilla's return. She had a
bundle of fabric under one arm. Beth noted idly that the skin around her eyes
was reddened; Priscilla had been a true friend.
    "Milady, we must do up your hair for the signal." Beth knew what she
meant. Lifting her bare bottom an inch from the blanket, she spread the
drying-rag underneath herself before settling back down. No sense ruining the
bedclothes. Priscilla had fetched the washbasin and returned with it in one
hand and a razor in the other. Beth considered grabbing the razor, but that
would be the worst of both worlds. Better to have it be worth something than
nothing, even if there was a little inconvenience before the end. Beth spread
her legs as the Spanish girl knelt between them, basin ready and full of soapy
water. She stared intently at the wooden beams above as she felt the gentle
hands lathering her, and barely flinched when she felt the first kiss of steel
on her most intimate place. Not two minutes had passed before she felt
distinctly exposed, cool air touching her in ways it never had before. As
Priscilla set down the razor, Beth looked down at her handiwork. All that
remained of the once-thick curly mane was a fiery triangle pointing downward
at her bare nether lips.
    Priscilla turned back to her, but to Beth's surprise, instead of standing
up she leaned forward and pressed her own lips firmly to the spot. "Oh!"
gasped Beth, face reddening, and impulsively pushed her knees towards each
other. Before she could say more, Priscilla's hand was
over her mouth. "This will make it easier," said Priscilla from between the
white thighs, "let me do this for you." Beth paused for a moment, considering,
then slowly relaxed her knees. After a few moments of the continuing
attention, she spread her legs further, then further again. The warmth of
Priscilla's tongue and fingers took her away and for a moment she forgot
everything but her own pleasure... Time, however, was in short supply. As
Priscilla pulled away, Beth was surprised to see her face spattered with
fluid from the powerful climax.

    After they had cleaned up and Beth had dried herself both above and below,
Priscilla handed her a garment. Beth unfurled it and held it up to examine.
"I cannot wear this!" she exclaimed, feeling a blush burn from her face to her
bare chest.
    "You must, milady. You know the concerns with a more... complete...
dress." Priscilla seemed on the verge of crying again.
    Beth knew the concerns. A bulky dress might cause issues with several
parts of the ritual.  Nonetheless, "complete" this scrap of cloth
certainly was not - gossamer-thin, it felt silky in her hands and was sheer
enough that light shone through. It had no real back, as such; it was more of
an apron with the rear held together by a few strips of fabric and the fervent
wishes of the daring maiden wearing it anywhere outside of her bridal chamber.
But there was no choice in the matter. Beth lifted her arms as the maid tied
the lacy thing onto her. She looked in the mirror as Priscilla stepped back
and immediately opened her mouth in shock, one hand flying to cover her chest
and the other her womanhood. Realizing the silliness of her reaction, she
forced her hands down and assessed the situation again. The picture was not
good; her firmed nipples were emphatically visible through the top, while the
bottom barely covered the essentials. Turning to get the rear view, she
realized it was even worse than the front. This bridal-gown was designed to
emphasize more than to conceal, and it let the smooth curves of her buttocks
stand out for all to see.
    "Surely there is another choice," Beth implored.
    "This was all they gave me," replied Priscilla. "It won't bother you for
long."
    Somehow, the truth sounded worse out loud.

    By the time the pounding on the door came, Beth's hair was done in a
pony-tail of red and the pair had said their goodbyes. Beth could not bring
herself to cry. Priscilla did enough for the two of them. As Beth opened the
door, holding herself tall against Wadsworth's cold eyes, she knew she would
not be coming back.
    Wadsworth let her walk her own way up the stairs. They both knew there was
nowhere for her to run; nonetheless, Beth appreciated the gesture. She looked
back over her shoulder and found his eyes fixed rigidly ahead. She had
expected them to be lower down on her body. As they walked up first one flight
of stairs, then two, and finally to the ground level, the air grew steadily
colder and the din of battle steadily louder. Beth shivered, goose-bumps rising
on her bare arms.
    Walking into the inner courtyard, Beth was relieved to see that they
intended to do the deed here, sparing her the indignity of going through it on
the outer palisades. Here, there were only the eyes of her father, Wadsworth,
and the African. The last was hard to miss - standing over six feet tall,
skin black as night and chest broader than any other man she had seen. He held
a mortar and pestle under one arm and was focused on grinding some sort of
paste.
    Her father helped Wadsworth secure her in the center of the square, tying
each wrist and ankle to the wooden posts they had set up for that purpose.
Beth stayed calm and focused on breathing in and out, keeping her eyes closed;
looking up at the clear sky from where she lay on her back brought all the
wrong thoughts to mind. Her father leaned over her to finish securing her
wrists. She scanned his face for remorse or pity as they tightened the ropes,
hauling her bodily off the ground, but found none.
    When they were done, she was pinioned between the posts, a pale starfish
lying three feet above a cold soil beach. She tugged at her arm-binding idly
but of course with her body-weight on the sturdy cords there was no give
anywhere, not even enough to bring her legs together a scant inch when a
wicked wind whipped against her femininity.
    "Begin," her father instructed the African, shouting to be heard above the
booming of the French artillery, "Men are dying!"
    The African approached. As he neared, Beth caught a whiff of the stuff in
his grinding-bowl. The acrid smell of strong magic made the fine hairs in her
nostrils stand on end and set her sinuses tingling. She strained her neck
muscles to follow him as he moved into her lower quadrant, reaching out a
hand. She gasped as his warm hand touched her cold thigh. He leered at her
with shockingly white teeth as he pulled a smear of paste from the bowl,
reaching up under her scanty covering and massaging it into her crotch. When
he pressed a thick ointment-lubricated finger deep inside, liberally coating
her inside and out, she grit her teeth and writhed as much as the bonds
allowed, but was powerless to force him away. She thought of screaming but it
would not carry over the battlefield, and would just demoralize their brave
fighters.
    When he was satisfied with the coverage, the African stepped back around
to her head, setting down the mortar and picking up his gnarled casting-stick. 
Beth let her head fall back to join her father and Wadsworth in watching him.
He uttered a brief, guttural burst in his native tongue, brandishing the staff
in unison. There was a pulse of light from the bowl at his feet. For several
seconds, nothing else appeared to happen; then, Beth started to feel a warmth
in her groin. The unguent within her passage was generating its own heat,
pleasantly dispelling the cold of the ambient air. She enjoyed the feeling but
not what it indicated. For the first part of the ritual to be a success, she
knew she must be brought to a peak. If she could hold it back, the whole
procedure would be a failure. Then they could find some other way. She did not
see what it might be, but surely there must be another means her father had
not considered. She steeled herself to resist as much as she could.
    Then the slimy mixture started at its task in earnest, pushing within her
body, firming and growing inside. It rubbed against her inner surfaces and
slid over her outer ones as it forced its way deeper. It reminded Beth of her
one secretive lover, before he had gone off to war.
    She remembered the night when she had daringly snuck into his room after
everyone was asleep. This was back in England, back in the days when she wore
fine dresses with corsets and lace, back before they had crossed the ocean.
This was even before the start of the war they had sailed away from, thinking
it would not have spread to the newer land.  She had fancied his
determination, the way he spoke of his adventures at her father's table. He
was older than she but that only added to the thrill; he had experience in
areas she had none. They talked often, sometimes straying to more adventurous
wordplay than her guardians would have permitted had the words reached them,
but until this night they had gone no further.
    Beth entered the room, closing the door behind her. He stood there in his
finery, dashing and bold. She felt a warmth from her core responding to him.
Tonight would be the night. Wordlessly they put their arms around one another.
This close to him, Beth felt like her corset was constricting her, each breath
harder to draw than the last. She was warm all over, safe against his broad
chest. They kissed for a short eternity and then they were pulling at clothing
as they fell onto his soft bed. As the last lace of her corset dropped, the
garment almost exploded from her body. Beth was surprised at the size of her
chest as her plump globes sprang from its confines. She must have blossomed
recently, the two heavy teardrops growing in her sleep.  Her lover at least
seemed appreciative, hefting and groping the soft flesh, bringing on a wave of
sensations, all of them powerful and good. Nude now, she spread her arms and
legs to welcome him in.
    As he lay atop her and began to thrust, Beth was struck with a sense of
disorientation. That was all long ago. The ache in her wrists and ankles
brought her back to the present. She opened her eyes to see the translucent
apron she had warn on the ground before her eyes. She felt a pervasive warmth
and a firm pounding within her sex. Each thrusting movement sent a spark of
desire through her body. The enchantment had taken the African's poultice,
solidifying and expanded it within her, filling her tunnel with sensation. She
struggled weakly, sweat on her upside-down forehead, before the next thrust
again carried her away into the long ago.
    Her lover was larger than she remembered, his member engorged with his
desires. She moaned and tried to wrap her legs around his back, but something
kept her spread beneath him. He lowered his body down onto her, hairy chest
pushing firmly into her bosom. Beth looked down at where their bodies met and
was amazed at the volume of her own flesh compressed between them. She was
entranced by the jiggling waves sent through her cleavage as he continued
rutting into her. Each movement of his caused a new dynamic in the swaying
paleness of her body. Her eyes widened in shock as she realizing her body was
expanding, becoming more voluptuous in time with his continued thrusting. He
leaned down and kissed her on the lips, then almost harshly rammed his rod
into her again.  As he bottomed out with a squelching sound her throat let
loose a deep groan as she sensed her cleavage grow a further inch, lifting her
lover far enough away to break their kiss.
    Standing up now, he began to pound her in earnest. As he drove toward both
of their climaxes, Beth watched his pleasure-intent face disappear behind the
continued rise of her female pillows. She tried to grasp them and bring him
back into view but her arms would not respond so she lay back, idly wondering
why nobody had told her it would be like this. The ache in her wrists, ankles,
and neck was unpleasant, and she was apprehensive about the dramatic changes
in her body, but all of that was eclipsed by the massive joy radiating from
her nethers to the rest of her body. It built to an unbearable plateau and
then burst within her, sweeping from head to toe, echoing through her fingers
and toes, all-consuming. Beth felt her lover reaching his own climax, her back
arching up and then his member was pulsing, delivering a sense of hotness and
fullness far up within her.
    Suddenly her blood all seemed to rush to her head and she became dizzy;
the walls spun and faded from the lush trappings of England to the bare wooden
planks of of a courtyard, the floor from thick carpets to frosted earth. She
saw her father standing upside down and another tremor ran through her body
before she realized that she hadn't put up a fight, hadn't even remembered
where and when she was.
    Her body felt strange, a weight pressing on her chest. She pulled her head
from where it had flopped and tried to look down her body, only to be thwarted
by her chin landing between two huge pale mounds that had replaced her
formerly-shapely bust. They lay high on her chest, wobbling in time to her
panted breaths. A pair of nipples - they must be hers but they were so much
larger than those which she claimed mere minutes ago - was just visible at the
periphery, solid as rock and thrusting at angles toward the sky. The mammoth
breasts felt like they were the center of her being, sensuous and important,
as if they had grown in stature within her mind proportionally with their
size. Beth felt like some succubus, all the signals her body was sending her
sexual in nature. The rocks of her nipples sent constant jolts reminding her
of their hardness. A regular flare came from near the entrance to her sex
where the button of pleasure she sometimes stroked when Priscilla was absent
stood up. But most of all, from inside her pelvis an inch below the triangle
of red hair, she felt the heat of the African's now-hard goo. It moved no
more, having pulled all of itself from the outside of her gash to the inside
and leaving no external sign, but still passively filled her passage to
capacity with its newfound girth. She was all vulva and breast, the feelings
in her limbs muted and unimportant in comparison to the continuing pleasure
emanating from her sensitive spots.
    Suddenly, her left nipple constricted abruptly, a pinch at its base; Beth
drew breath and looked up again to see the African looming above her. She
watched, wide-mouthed in awe, as he placed a gold ring around her right nipple
and intoned a phrase too soft for her to catch. There was a discharge of magic
and the ring shrank around the base of the teat, tightening and forcing more
blood into the already-engorged nub. Another climactic wave starting within
the pinched flesh and finishing down below took her unawares, reminding her
while her body convulsed that the orgasm had not so much finished as subsided.
It lurked in her humongous new assets, waiting to be reawakened by the
lightest brush of their surface.
    A hand took her chin and pulled her head back. Beth's eyes traced up the
shins of the African, following his legs to where they met. He had discarded
his customary loin-cloth, usually worn even in the dead of winter, and now
allowed his penis to jut erect at a right angle from his body. He stepped to
within a foot of her head, the tip of his manhood a mere inch from her lips.
Her vision was occupied by the veiny underside of the phallus and the two
chestnuts dangling beneath. It occurred to Beth that this was her last chance.
The spell needed a catalyst, would soon die without it. All she needed to do
was to refuse him and they would have to let her free.
    As if in answer to her thoughts, the African began anew with his magical
mumblings. Power coursed through his body as he called upon the spirits around
him, the air taking on a stormlike tang that overpowered the African's own
musk. Beth tried to focus on the spells being cast on him and her, but most of
the magicks were beyond her - she caught what sounded like a spell to settle
an upset stomach, and one she heard used when a stubborn baby would not take a
mother's teat, but most of what she could hear was nonsense. One thing was
certain to her - this was more magic that they usually expended in an entire
year, being used here just to ensure this part of the ritual was completed
without a mistake.
    The African reached down and hoisted his sack in one hand. His voice
crescendoed above and there was a flash of lightning arcing from one ovoid to
the next before both hastily doubled in size, growing from robin's eggs to a
width approaching that of a scrawny chicken's laying.  Unsatisfied, he voiced
again and the pair pulsed, enlarging to the size of two fists, the skin around
them taut and the veins pronounced on their surface.
    Beth was enraptured by the sight of them. Even though she knew her doom
lay within, the grotesque spheres and their connected pole were so virile, so
undeniably male... She wanted to reach out and feel them but it was
impossible.
    The man put his hands on the side of her head and moved forward. To the
bound girl's surprise, despite her best efforts to keep her lips pressed
together, her mouth opened on its own and smoothly accepted him against her
will. She tried to bite down but her jaw would not respond to her wishes. Her
mouth filled with the salty taste of him, her lips wrapping tightly around the
shaft and saliva lubricating his passage in and out.  Beth's eyes watered as
the gift she had never given a man, a thing only discussed in laughing
whispers with her handmaids in the old country, was forcibly taken from her.
The mammaries towering over her wobbled and smacked against one another in
counterpoint to the slippery thrusting. The man stepped up the pace and
grunted a syllable down to Beth. It meant nothing to her brain but apparently
more to her tongue and throat; the former began sliding back and forth around
the tree filling her, sometimes sticking out beyond her lips to wet the
portions of the member not yet inside her. The latter relaxed and welcomed the
foreign intruder progressively deeper as the tempo steadily increased.
    Finally, the African let out a long loud cry and grabbed Beth's head in
both hands, pulling her all the way down until his bulging testes lay on her
face and she could see nothing but. She felt them constrict against her cheeks
and heard the sound of rushing fluid, as if a spring were welling up deep
within them. Then her lips stretched apart momentarily as a heavy bulge rushed
by them, passing over her still-moving tongue before forcing itself down her
throat. Less than a second passed and the same series of events repeated
itself, another ripple of muscle down the tube pushing a second knot into her
gullet. Beth tried to draw breath and realized she could not. As the edges of
her sight began to darken, she felt an odd mixture of sorrow and relief that
it would end this way.
    But it was not to be. Hearing her choking sounds, the African pulled back
until only the mushroom-head of his cock remained behind her lips. Beth
gratefully breathed out, then in. Before she could finish filling her lungs,
the dark orbs before her eyes pulsed and this time she saw a visible lump race
out of him and into her. As it passed the tip resting on her tongue, it
transformed from a bulge beneath his flesh into a heavy spray of thick fluid
filling her mouth. To her astonishment, her inhalation was cut short as
powerful sorcery forced her body to prioritize the spunk's safe delivery into
her stomach over everything, even drawing breath.  The muscles of her mouth
and throat all worked in concert against her, pulling all the fluid together
at the back of her mouth before giving a great gulp and sending the totality
sliding to her belly. There was so much that the swallow was almost painful
but Beth let her treacherous mouth do as the spell bade it, hastening instead
to get the air she needed.
    As deliveries continued undiminished, Beth settled into a steady rhythm,
breathing in rapidly, swallowing twice, then exhaling before drinking twice
more. She tried to tell her lips to part, but they stayed sealed around the
manhood, spilling not a single drop. She found she could control the muscles
somewhat, moving her tongue between bursts - it did what she wished, so long
as the end result continued her feeding. Nor was the meal a pleasant one. Each
deposit was laced with strong magic, bubbling on her tongue. It was thick but
strangely light at the same time, feeling as if she were taking in as much gas
as liquid with each potently male explosion. It reminded her of nothing so
much as a fermented ginger drink she loved in her childhood; that, too, had
popped and bubbled its way down, although it had tasted of sugar and ginger
instead of sweat and male musk.
    She became aware her belly was full but the African continued without
heed. She assessed the source of her torment, still pulsing throbbing less
than a hand-span before her eyes, and groaned as she saw they were barely
halfway diminished to the size they had been when she first beheld them. In a
minute, she began to feel discomfort; after another two, she was ready to
swear she could hold not another drop. She understood now why the midwife was
so intent on cautioning young mothers to watch their babes after casting the
feeding-spell; a careless wet-nurse could let an infant so ensorcelled
continue without end.
    Finally, the ordeal was over. The African gave a loud curse in his native
tongue and again slid himself to the hilt in her sheath. He contracted once,
twice, thrice, the loads slower and much larger than their predecessors, and
after each had parted her lips and then throat uncomfortably far they passed
beneath her breast, her stomach swelling to contain each one. He pulled from
her mouth, her lips tightening to stay locked around him. As the last bit of
the tip left her, they sealed together with a kiss-like smack before the
enchantment dutifully made her accept the remnants dribbled as he withdrew.
    When that had been taken care of, her mouth was finally her own again. She
wanted to curse him in the languages of sailors, but just then he reached down
and powerfully slapped one of her new-grown breasts. The invective died on her
tongue, rising instead as a low-pitched "Uggggh..." when her bloated chest
rebounded against itself, one side slamming into the other, bringing her back
to the peak of a mountain of wonder. Physical glee suffused her as her nipples
throbbed above the too-small rings holding them at their hardest. She thrust
her hips up, feeling her inner muscles clench on the plug still deep inside
her, and did not return to something approaching sense until the mounds had
completely ceased their swaying.
    When she could again string her thoughts together, Beth realized she was
in a dire predicament. Her only hope now was to persuade them not to finish
the spell. She searched about her to find their feet, groaning with dismay at
the feeling of having over-stuffed herself, the ache in her limbs, and the
dizziness of blood rushing to her head. At least she was no longer cold;
although she could see her breath, her body was drenched with sweat and a
continued heat emanated from the thing in her unmentionables. She found her
father standing with Wadsworth and the African, holding counsel. She readied
her self to beg, to plead, to say whatever was necessary to convince them not
to do what they planned, but just then a cannonball came crashing into the
ground at the other end of the courtyard. Luckily, the explosion was too far
away to endanger her, but the sudden shock gave Beth new ears for the sounds
around her. She heard crying, and screams; gunfire from both sides, and
cannon-shot only from one. She realized she could not bring herself to beg out
of it, even if there were something she could say that would convince her
father. She knew he was right.
    Shortly after she made her silent pact to bear whatever came, the trio
broke up. Wadsworth and the African stepped back and watched, the African
still grinning at her lecherously. Despite everything Beth found herself
blushing again at the overt stare.
    Her father leaned in close to her ear. "I know you won't believe me, but I
do love you, girl. Duty comes first, is all. What needs be done needs be done.
Take solace in the certainty that while I am bound by heaven, you are
heaven-bound."
    With that, he placed a hand against her belly above the navel. He pressed
it in, and then began rubbing up and down, insistently jostling the contents
the African had made her drink. Then he untied her hair, letting it fall free
below her. Finally he stepped back.
    At first, Beth thought the shaking had done naught but serve as a reminder
of her discomfort. There was the percussive boom of a cannon-shot, but then an
unexpected sound; a second, larger explosion in the distance. Beth thought it
likely one of the French caissons. Her suspicions were confirmed when a cheer
went up from the wall, the cannon fire silenced.  Undoubtedly the French would
need time to recover from the mishap; perhaps if the damage were great enough,
the tide of battle would even be turned!  Yes, there was no counter-spell
known, but perhaps if it had not been triggered... But then in the silence
that fell after the gunfire ceased, she heard a strange bubbling sound. Her
full stomach churned and roiled. She did not feel nauseated, but again was
reminded of her childhood ginger drink and how it felt when she drank too
much. On the occasions she had drank it too quickly, she had belched louder
than any other time in her life; the buildup to each of those belches had felt
much like the workings of the liquid within her now. Right on cue, she
surprised herself by breaking wind noisily. Wadsworth and the African looked
shocked. Her father reacted differently, breaking the ensuing quiet by
shouting at them. "You fools!  You missed a step! Fix it, don't drag it out!"
    The African broke into a run, scooping up the bowl of magical liniment he
had earlier discarded. As Beth again embarrassed herself by noisily expelling
gas, he smeared his hand with it and knelt beside her before bringing the
concoction up to the source of the emissions. He spoke in short sharp words
and the material responded as a living thing, thrusting a mass into her before
balling up and expanding in all directions, immediately curing. Although the
gunk stoppered her up too tightly for even a puff to escape, the upset in her
stomach continued. If anything, it felt stronger now, and the sound of
bubbling was continuous and angry.
    A pressure began to make itself known in her chest. It felt like a
tautness from the center of each. Unlike the sensation of growth earlier, when
she had felt like she was expanding, becoming more, this felt more like
something was being pressed into her. With each passing moment the strain grew
greater. Beth lifted her head up to look, wide-eyed, but she was already so
massive she could not discern whether they were again getting bigger.
    Soon, the sensation of fullness within her chest outweighed that of her
belly.  They felt warm and light; for the first time since she had her more
sensible frame taken from her, the pressure on her lungs seemed tolerable.
Were it not for the rising tautness, whatever was happening would not be
altogether unpleasant. Her nipples felt increasingly constrained, their
insistence against their golden bindings complementing the increasing sense
that the inside of her bosom was pressing outward against the skin. She looked
over at Wadsworth but his expression was unreadable. The African seemed
pleased with himself. Beth noted with disgust that his member was again ready
beneath his loincloth. Her father had turned his back.
    Then the ropes tugging at her arms and legs no longer did so. Beth felt as
light as a feather, suspended spread-eagle above the ground. She looked at the
sky and noticed her nipples were seeking it out, leading the way upward atop
breasts thrice larger than at her last glance. They distended further before
her eyes. She bobbed up and down as a breeze gently swept the courtyard,
falling back against the ropes with agonizing slowness. Beth realized that she
now weighed barely anything at all, the heaviness of her body offset by the
magical lightness of the behemoths growing above her. And then without warning
her bladder let loose onto the ground and with the loss of that ballast she
crossed an invisible threshold, becoming lighter than air. Her chest pulled
her up and the ropes transitioned from holding her away from the earth to
keeping her from leaving it. As the seconds passed with agonizing slowness,
the tug on her appendages increased, the gas forcing its way about within her
not content to let her lightly drift but intent on making her strain upwards
against the tethers.
    Her father was untying one hand and Wadsworth the other. She did not look
at either of them, remaining focused on the billowing pale flesh before her.
As they let go together her breasts lifted her back away from the ground and
she rapidly angled upward until the cords still binding her feet caught her
above the other two posts, her legs held lewdly apart by the angle. When she
reached the end of the leash the sudden bounce and jolt made her climax again
and fluids dripped down from the bare lips between her thighs, falling to the
earth as the rest of her no longer could. Her chest had reached a fullness
that made her groan, her vision filled with nothing but pinkish white as her
head was engulfed by them on three sides. They felt tense against her cheeks,
less giving than flesh was supposed to be, no longer soft.
    Beth had seen this happen once before, but the last time it had not been
her father giving the surrender. She recalled watching from her hidey-hole in
one of the minarets of the Scottish castle where it had happened, seeing the
unfortunate blonde who was to be the sacrifice. She remembered the wonderment
as the girl transformed from waif to emphatic woman, the confusion as a man
did something to her which she did not understand, and the surprise when the
transforming body had lifted free of the ground. Had she known how it felt,
the sensation of being forcibly filled from within, of being a bounded
container which held an unbounded volume, she would not have laughed as she
did. Beth put her hands down on her still-complaining stomach and was
unsurprised to find it distended outwards. She could not see it below the more
pressing parts of her, but from the feel of it she was large as an expectant
mother ready to deliver. She thought again on the two intruders keeping her
from birthing the gas and something snapped inside of her. She began thrashing
as Wadsworth and the African tried to untie her. They could not get the rope
free from either ankle, the pressure and her struggles combining to make the
knots impossible to undo. Her father had them haul her down, the two large
grown men using their whole bodies to pull her downwards. As her legs spread
wider and her blown-up belly leveled with her father's eyes she felt him give
it a resounding smack. It boomed like a drum, and her squirming immediately
changed in nature as the spot just above her cleft echoed in answer. Before
she recovered he had untied both ankles, and then her legs swung together and
she was ascending, wishing desperately to be down, powerless to by any way but
sky-bound...
    As the moons both above and attached to her gained in altitude, Beth
looked behind her to see the French camp spread on the ground below. From up
here they looked like little toy soldiers more than men, rushing to extinguish
a waving piece of colored red paper. Then a gust of wind swept across the tips
of her guiding spheres, rotating her as a dancer in the sky, and she was again
bound for heaven.


    Commander Lucerne was having a very bad day. The defensive forces were
putting up resistance twice what his lieutenants had accounted for, and now he
had lost half his artillery unit because some piss-boy couldn't trouble
himself to walk away from the munitions to have a smoke. It looked like they
had it under control now, but the interruption meant it might take another day
before they could seize the choke-point.
    He glanced over at the English fort, then back at the map before him. If
it took them another day to capture this point... His eyes snapped back to the
fortress. "CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE, YOU DOGS! CEASE!" As the lieutenants
relayed the order, he turned to his message-boy. "Bonefant! My spyglass! And
the farseer! And fetch... Milleau!"
    Bonefant snapped the bronze tube into the Commander's hand before running
off. The Commander wasted no time in pulling the ends off and extending it,
bringing one eye to the small end. He cast about in the air above the
fortress, orienting himself, before the pinkish pontoons were in his sights.
With this weak magnification he could not see enough of the small body
dangling beneath the two larger pink globes to be certain. Bonefant had
returned with the farseer; Lucerne hurried him as he set it up, not taking his
eye from the spyglass. When it was ready he hurried Bonefant again and then
bent forward, peering through the larger apparatus. He again oriented the
angle of view. Now he could see much greater detail. He could make out the red
of the hair running down her back. He glanced at the face with its look of
anxious fear, then spent more time gazing at the womanly buttocks bare to him.
    A wind struck the bosoms like a sail and the whole ensemble rotated
around, the woman's face now concealed behind the wall of her overemphasized
assets. Lucerne smiled as the continued ascent showed him first the upper
curve of a belly due for twenty babes, then the navel forced out by the
tautness within, and then the toned pale thighs and the wet, welcoming,
swollen-red lips between. As he watched she jolted and lifted her legs, the
thighs rising and parting, trying to wrap her legs around a lover that was
just the wind and the gas within her. As the beauty pulled her legs up against
her overfull abdomen, curling herself into a ball around it as best she could
while her tits continued their upward climb, her labia parted. Lucerne
adjusted the focus and brought into sharp clarity the red triangle of pubic
hair, then the clitoris insistently enlarged by the tautness and continued
climax, and then the view he wanted. From the angle with her body clenched
around the great sphere of her belly, thin arms hugging it tight as if they
could force it back in, the Commander saw the plug in her most female spot.
Her womanhood was open enough to show him an inch of the translucent goo but
he knew the portion inside her widened out to more than treble that measure.
Satisfied, he let her flight carry her buttocks back into his sight and
observed the anus pushing futilely against its own occupier. Again an inch was
in sight, but as the girl clenched herself the aperture widened to two,
straining outward for a second against the giant ball before relaxing and
permitting the plug to slip inside once more.
    Bonefant had returned with Milleau. Lucerne stepped aside and let him look
through the farseer. Milleau adjusted it upwards, then upwards again. The
Commander looked at the signal with his naked eye. She was at least five
hundred feet up now, still gaining. Even from this distance he could tell that
her three growths were merging into one, the breasts above becoming part of a
more rapid filling of the rest of her. Milleau again bumped the farseer
higher. Lucerne brought the forgotten farseer at his side again to his eye and
confirmed that she was mostly a ball now, two smaller roundnesses all that
remained of the hot-air bags which had hauled her nearly to the clouds.
    At last, Milleau relinquished his place, and Lucerne used the stronger
lens to watch the show's end. He found her in the sky, noticing the sweat
still rolling down the white skin. He swept the view up from the engorged
labia with the still-visible red triangle pointing the way, up past the bump
that was the only distinction of the belly which had consumed her, up past a
tiny nipple purple and angry within a gold ring. He found her face atop the
sphere, thrashing back and forth as the tautness within her did not permit her
orgasm to let up for even a second. She grit her teeth and tossed her hair,
eyes clenched shut as the skin all around her head rose up, her chin pressing
against its surface. The glass slipped a little and Lucerne found himself
focused on her womanhood with its lips now pressed tightly together by the
skin around it. He jumped upward to somewhere in the vast belly as it pressed
outward, then shrunk a little bit, waging its own war against the thinning air
far above the battlefield of men. It grew outwards again and then the glass
was filled with blue sky. Lucerne jerked backwards and craned his head up,
searching frantically with unaided eyes, but there was nothing there. A moment
later a dulled "whumph" sound reached his ears from far above.
    "Was it her?" he asked Milleau, who had once met the governor's daughter.
    "It was."
    "Then our hands are tied. Sign the papers and send an envoy."


=== POSTFIX ===

This is my tribute to everyone who wrote a breast expansion or body inflation
story. It takes a lot of courage to put your own fiction on the Internet. I've
been reading the work of strangers for years, but never gave anything back;
this is my attempt at making equal trade.

Special thanks to the pseudonymous authors who treat their erotic fiction as
writing first and smut second, like heliumgirl77, inflate123, and LutherVKane;
further thanks to those who aren't afraid to stray into darker themes in
whatever medium, like Doc Swell or the reborn KidQuetzal. Thanks also to the
hundreds of authors whose work I read and appreciate but didn't mention here.
Keep on trucking, all of you. You may not always get much feedback, but what
you write is always appreciated.