Thank you very much for your interest in this sex-enriched fantasy story. I do hope what meager talent I have to offer will give you a little break from your everyday life and lend wings to your imagination. Now I don’t consider myself a “professional” writer of any sort, though I do strive to present my tales as well as I possibly can. If you have questions, if you feel like giving me a verbal pat on the back or a harsh lecture (or really anything in between, I’ll take what feedback I can get), I do have a couple of links for your convenience at the end of this file.
— Paul
With that out of the way, obligatory disclaimer, titles and recap below. Or skip straight to the story.
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! And by that, I mean “not at all”. Just like you can’t turn a frog into a prince, there’s no way to turn the plain maid into a big-chested princess by blowing her up. You’ll just end up with pieces of dead plain maid all over the room. So, don’t even for a second think about it. I can’t believe I’m actually writing this. It’s like having to say, “hey, you know, broomsticks don’t really fly, so you better not grab one and jump out the window, m’kay?” Are there really people that stupid out there? Gosh, I hope I never meet one of those.
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!
Siren Song, Part 2 – Growing Out (World of Altaerna, 1185)
by
Paul Gerard (a pen name)
First Draft started 2008-06-17
Spellchecked: by computer.
Proof-reading: A very heartfelt thank you to Merkava IV and CoffeePilot for their time and patience.
--
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.
This story unfolds in medieval times, around the 12th Century. 1185, if you’re one for nitpicking.
Once upon a time …
The year is 1185, the world is Altaerna, and the place is somewhere in the temperate climate where people are mostly pale and mostly stubborn.
A winter ago, a lithe and lissom young woman saved a handsome young fisherman from drowning. The fisherman’s would-be fiance, headstrong cold-hearted not-so-young Menena, the town’s mayor and wealthy shop owner, didn’t take it lightly when her trusted maid Barbara and her well-equipped secret boy toy David fell for each other hard and fast despite being unable to join in carnal pleasures (on account of Barbara’s nethers being a thimble and David being … rather more than that).
Consumed by jealousy, Menena saw to it that David was banned from the town, with Menena maligning him whenever she could. Barbara was given the boot but still found a little lenience in Menena’s eyes for the years of service, so the lithe blonde was allowed to spend market days in the side streets where she’s now trying to sell for a living the fishes that David catches with his tiny boat and his worn nets. The outcast couple of twenty-somethings got secretly married and made it through their first year, living a life of privation in a tiny hut atop the cliffs, hours from the town.
Spring has returned. Going for a swim while waiting for her husband’s return, Barbara hits upon a drifting net chock-full of fish while her other half David makes but a single lucky catch out at sea. Reunited, the young couple retreats into their favorite hideaway to have another go at their most pressing problem, their inability to consume their marriage properly. Still unable to succeed, they resort to each other’s dexterity like the many times before.
As Barbara prepares lunch gutting the fish David brought, she discovers a valuable pendant in its belly. Putting it on, she — is woken by her husband, hours later. Not only has she developed quite the appetite for the unfamiliar fishes that the new net seems to attract, she also suddenly succeeds in devouring herculean meat (wink, wink). When David sets out to a bigger and more distant town in an effort to sell more of his catches, Barbara ends up doing a little self-exploration on a moonlit night. She also ends up with quite some more Barbara before the night is through. After a day spent in fear and despair, and lucky for her self-conscious mind, a) most of it has disappeared again by the time Dave returns, and b) David doesn’t mind the surplus left on her at all.
As the next market day comes around, Barbara squeezes into her now ill-fitting old clothes and is about to go on a quest for answers about what has befallen her, and her first stop will be the town’s healer and midwife. Alas, the market isn’t over yet …
Part 2: Growing Out
Obscure inspirational music reference:
“Every time I dream it’s just a little bit stronger than real life” — Meat Loaf, Good Girls go to Heaven
Chapter 7: No Second Opinion
“Dun—de—dun—dun, dun—dun—de—da,” Barbara hummed quietly. Her toned legs laid crossed on one of the handles of her cart, and she swayed her upper foot to the beat in her head. So there’s something to be said for a bit more padding in the rear, Barbara admitted to herself as she wiggled her firm buttocks on her now much more comfortable seat. Her eyes followed the lazy drunken dance of a butterfly while she wound a strand of her long golden hair around her slender forefinger. With the cool wall against her back and the warm rays on her body, the hour where the sun made it down into the narrow side street was her favorite time. She tugged absentmindedly on a crease of strain in her worn gown’s fabric as she counted the display of her fishes for the umpteenth time. No sale, no change. The laid-out catch was fresh and their sizes excellent, but she knew she couldn’t hope for more than a sale or two, and those only on the sly and out of pity. Not after she’d learned from the blacksmith about how Menena, her former mistress, most successful mayor and shopkeeper and the biggest moneylender of the whole area, leaned on those seen at her tiny cart.
“Wench!” bellowed a deep voice.
She jerked around and gasped for air. The face of the brick wall sized town guard was hidden in the shadows of his hat’s brim. He stood so close as to almost fall over her cart. Barbara’s hands started to tremble. This is it. They’ll run me out of town. Oh the gods, I never did nothing wrong, how —
“— Much is the fish?” reached her disbelieving ears.
“Beg y’pardon?” she managed, struggling upright only to bow respectfully.
He took off his hat and twisted in his big, rough hands. “Sorry t’startle ya, didn’t mean to. How much is the fish?”
“Two coppers apiece,” Barbara replied. “Hah! Heh!” A liberating giggle, mixed with relieved panting, forced its way up her constricted throat. The jiggling and trembling that spread all over her chest’s new volume in her laughter’s wake still felt strange to her, and she twisted her body halfway to the side and pressed her flat hand on the window of her neckline. The guard raised a warning finger and tilted his head.
“Don’t be doing that, Miss, lest oy’ll hafft’ arrest ya fer obstruction of the watch’s view!” His posture and smile made it blatantly obvious that he was joking though.
After he left with one of the bigger catches, Barbara opened her hand. Eight copper pieces shone dully on her palm.
“Fair enough for the fright,” she smiled, about to sit down and lean back again. “Dun—dun—da—de—”
“Miss?”
She recognized the voice before she even turned around. “Andrew! Little Andrew from Redwood farm, right?” Barbara raised her head and had to admit, there was nothing little about the freckled, red-headed guy any more. “My, you’ve grown! It’s been what, four years? How did you —”
The strapping young man shrugged. “First day in town for months. Saw the guard, was just curious. You selling?” he added, pointing at the cart.
“Uh, yes, of course,” Barbara stuttered. “Sorry, it’s just — oh come on!” Another guy walked past the side street, only to hesitate and return moments later. Barbara began to smile. Robert Blacksmith, I really owe you. Seems you’ve got in a good word for me after all.
The bell announced the end of the market. Barbara took stock. Two thirds of her display was gone, and her pouch had gained a healthy amount of much-needed volume. She knocked on the wooden door of the house behind her.
“What?” barked an unfriendly voice.
“Uh — Misses Weaver, could you keep an eye on my cart, I need to — to pay someone a visit. Err, to make a delivery. I’ll be back soon—,” begged Barbara, only to add under her breath, “—ish.”
Old Miss Weaver opened the door a couple of inches and took a short peek outside, narrowing her aged eyes until the blurred shapes took on recognizable forms.
“Ah, it’s you. Yes, yes. Not a problem. That’ll be one copper extra.” The wrinkly old woman cocked her head, then she raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the cart. “Very wise, bringing only half your usual catch. What’s the point in dragging it here and back again, eh?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, right.” Dammit. Almost opened my mouth too wide there, Barbara realized. Drop the wrong hint, she’s going to demand a share of my sales.
Barbara sat patiently in the gloom of the antechamber. Leta Mawson was busy, always busy; even at the ripe old age of seventy, her duties left little time for idle chat. The grandmotherly, rotund woman was midwife to most of the villagers and healer to them all.
“Barbara? Is that you? Haven’t seen you in a while, and — whoa Nelly, little fish bone helped herself to a comfy pair of milkers!”
She recognized the squeaky voice and wished she didn’t. Barbara smiled nevertheless as she raised her head and greeted.
“Sandy! What are you doing here?”
The moon-faced, freckled, stocky girl of twenty years twisted her body. Her copper curls were tied back to a ponytail and swung wildly as she turned on the spot and sent her skirt flying. When she stopped her spinning, her bulging chest and fertile hips kept the apron busy for quite a while longer. She raised her lower arms in a half-circle and slanted her hips.
“Tah—da! I’m Leta’s new appurentice! She’s teachin’ me everythin’ an’ stuff! And I’ll become the new healer! Oh, I knew you’d show up sooner or later, what with your little hole being ripped wide open by that brute’s horse cock! That’s gotta hurt for weeks. Eh, oy’ve got an ointment for that. Leta always says, if’n ya use it luiberalley, ya could breed a mouse with’n a bull.”
Barbara blushed from her chest up to the roots of her hair. “Guh — what?” she managed, casting nervous looks around.
Sandy waved her hand dismissively. “Naah, no need t’ be coy about it aroun’ here, ain’t nothin’ us healers haven’t seen before, is what Leta’s been sayin’ all the time.”
Morbid curiosity rose its head in the back of Barbara’s brain, and against her better judgement, she heard herself ask, “What have you seen before?”
Sandy at least had the decency to lean in and whisper.
“Weeeeell, ya see, out on the farms, sumtimes a widow gets a little lonely, an’ them huge beasties start t’look so vuirile an’ inviting —”
“Sandy,” Barbara interrupted with her most calming, sugar-coated voice, “I don’t want to hear anything about anyone. I’d just like to have a little talk with Leta, alone, if you’d be so kind. And there’s nothing wrong with my little hole, thank you very much.”
The apprentice nurse wouldn’t get subtlety if Berta Blacksmith pounded it into her head with a sledgehammer. She plopped herself down on the bench by Barbara’s side.
“Ah, Leta’s busy. Lucky you, I’ve got nothing to do but t’ keep ya company. So, what’s with you and Big Dong Dave?”
“Big Dong Dave? That’s my husband you’re talking about!”
Sandy giggled. “No way! You married the Cock? After what he did to you?”
“What he — ” Barbara’s eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched into fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?! Sandy. I am going to say this just once. David is the perfect husband, and before, he was the perfect sweetheart, and that is that! Think for a moment before you open your lips again.”
— Or I’m going to lodge my fist so deep into your mouth, it’s going to be my fingers doing the thinking for you, she finished mutely, and regretted the violent surge the very next moment. Silence spread in the antechamber. Barbara mistook it for the kind born of sulkiness.
“I’m sorry, Sandy. I didn’t mean to — ”
Sandy raised a finger and stopped her. “Still thinking,” she added after a few more seconds.
Just as Barbara inhaled for a reply, Sandy turned to her and put her hands on her hips.
“That’s so odd, Dave being so kind to you! Y’know, Menena said she’d thrown him out because he always wanted to get inside her, but he’s too thick and long for ordinary women, that brute!”
“Menena said?!” Oh that nasty crone! That nasty, lying, mean crone! First she —
“So, is he really — y’know, big? How do you manage? Do you like it, or is it a chore? Say, are you, like, cow-sized wide?”
Sandy’s impeccable timing crushed Barbara’s rising anger and buried it under a load of rocks made from sheer embarrassment and bewilderment.
“No!” escaped Barbara’s lips. “I — I mean, no, I’m not cow-sized!”
“An’ why not? Y’know, you’re supposed to stretch iff’n you do it long and hard enough. It’s not all that bad, makes the birthin’ a whole lot easier, an’ us healers like that!”
“Gods, Sandy! Have you no slice of modesty in you?” stammered Barbara.
“Nah, when pickin’ day came about an’ all us of age got our apprentice…boat? Ship! Appurenticeship! An’ I was the last one standin’ there, then Leta looked everywhere about me an’ said I’m so hollow, there’s lots of room for all her knowledge in me! But she didn’t get to tellin’ me about no modasty yet. Sorry.”
“Grumble.”
“Whut?”
“I said Leta always had a fine eye for people,” Barbara sighed.
“Next—!” barked Leta Mawson’s commanding rough voice. Barbara involuntarily jumped to her feet. Her hand trembled a little as she brushed aside the blanket that separated the waiting room from the main one.
“So the lost orphan girl finally finds her way to me,” Leta smiled softly as she turned away from the tall shelves that lined most of the walls. “What’s the matter, my dear? You of all people wouldn’t show if it wasn’t something serious.”
Barbara blushed profoundly and bit her lips.
“This — I’m — things keep happening!” She hesitated for a moment, then she slapped her hands before her face and started sobbing. “I — how — it’s so hard to tell! Please, don’t laugh at me!”
The midwife put her arm around Barbara’s heaving shoulders.
“Shhhh, poor girl. Leta’s here. Leta understands everything.”
“You can put your clothes back on, Barbara. You should, in fact. Oh dear, oh dear. I’m seventy-one now, and I should be beyond these things, but you, you almost managed to turn this stupid old hag green with envy.” Leta shook her head and smiled.
“Honest to the gods, you had me worrying about you for some time, child. Nice lass you are now, but scrawny like you were when I last saw you, you wouldn’t have lasted a dry stretch. Much better to see you with some meat on your bones, and all in the best places.” The old woman winked, then she leaned in. “Word to the wise, dear: sit down with needle and thread, and make yer garb a bit more,” she gesticulated awkwardly with cupped hands and her palms facing the ceiling, making little juggling motions, “— err, comfortable, lest ya pop a seam at an inappropriayte time. Seems it was sown when someone didn’t ever expect to learn the meaning of handfuls. And your ripe apples are quite the pair of handfuls, darling.”
Barbara blushed and closed the last few hooks and loops on her gown, working her way up from her narrow waist. The first hand’s width was easy, but then —
“Gnnngh!”
Scrrrish.
Leta raised her eyebrows and lowered her head in the age-old gesture of told you. Barbara sighed. She pocketed the torn loop and opted for provisionally tying up the gap across her cleavage with a zig-zagging cord. The spread was almost three inches at the widest place. Only at her collarbones did the cloth shut again the way it was supposed to. Beneath them, right at nipples’ height, any pair of prying eyes had the nicest window into the collision zone of her breasts.
“I will widen the seams, soon as I get home!” Barbara nodded, then she canted her head and drew up her shoulders questioningly. “So — so it’s good? I mean, my — my breasts, becoming so full and heavy, and all that milk — I’m twenty, isn’t that supposed to happen way earlier? Look at Sandy, she’s been, like —” Barbara’s hands painted something better than twice her own curviness in the air, “— like that years before me. And these days where I’m not myself and I wail about nothing, only to snarl at Dave the very next moment —”
Leta brushed away Barbara’s fearful question with a wave of her hand.
“Full and heavy? With you being Menena’s former maid, I’d say you know better than to call yourself full and heavy straight-faced! So you came into bloom a bit later, that’s bound to happen to someone. The later it comes, the longer it lasts, eh? No, dear, nothing’s wrong with you at all. Nice and firm in front and rear, don’t you dare to speak ill of your own body. Oh, and the bloat and the anger, the trial of womenfolk through the ages! Who of us hasn’t had these moods, darling? It comes and goes with the moon, girl, and it’s never as bad as it seems in our minds. Don’t you worry, it’s what all of us women feel.”
“We do?” Barbara exhaled. “That’s a relief.”
The long late afternoon walk from the village to her isolated hut never seemed as short to Barbara as today. The weight of several boulders had been lifted from her shoulders, and she danced even though the swaying and bobbing it caused in her marvelous handfuls reminded her of bouncing boulders still.
Barbara sneaked down the footpath to Dave’s little pier. Her naked soles made no sound on the warm sand, and the soft wind moved her dress, but not enough to give her away with a flutter or a rustle. As she stalked her favorite prey, she ate him up with her eyes and congratulated herself to the hunk of a catch she’d made. Every now and then a gust moved his shoulder-long hair far enough out of the way to grant her a peek at his chiseled jaw.
David had shed his tunic and stood with nothing but his loincloth by the thin poles that held up his frail fishnet, sewing up the holes. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the aching shoulder blades, and Barbara stifled a hungry growl. The well-defined, sweaty muscles on his bronzed triangular back glistened in the setting sun. Dave raised his heels, reaching for a torn thread higher up. The sinews on the back of his knees framed the onset of his contracting calves.
Need him, now! Barbara’s fingers bent greedily. She leaned forward and pounced. His body stiffened under her impact as she wrapped her arms around his chest and felt up his hard midriff.
“Good news!” laughed Barbara, clinging to her startled husband from behind. Her fingers moved independently and homed in on his loincloth, searching for the tying knot. “Guess what? It’s what happens to all girls when they become real women!”
“What?” frowned Dave. Reluctantly, she let go of him and took a step backwards. He turned to face her, and her gorgeous sight immediately smoothed the wrinkles on his forehead.
Barbara canted her hips and put her arms akimbo, proudly thrusting out her ample chest. Her clothes groaned a warning.
Come and get them, cup and knead them, chirped her thoughts.
“I talked to old Leta Mawson about me growing and the bad moods and stuff, and she said it’s something all of us women go through, but we just don’t talk about it.” She rolled her shoulders and smiled seductively. “So now your bride is finally all the woman you’ll ever need.”
“You always were all the woman I ever needed. But — are you sure about —”
“That’s what Leta said. To the letter, cross my heart. So we finally can stop worrying and enjoy all this.” She embraced him and squeezed her soft, bulging bosoms against him, ripping threads and torn seams be damned. Dave’s hands hiked up her skirt. Barbara started to grind her naked crotch against his leg, adding her own ample lubrication to the salty sweat on his skin. He grabbed her uncovered buttocks, digging his fingers into her firm flesh.
“Yes, that’s what I meant,” she gasped.
Something in the back of her mind noticed the slow gentle waves rolling over the shore. Driftwood moved back and forth with the body of water as it licked over the sand. In and out, whispered the thought in Barbara’s head. In and out with the waves, on and on. Just imagine — Barbara didn’t need to imagine anything. The picture was vividly in her mind, burning with anticipation.
“Come, David! Off with the wrapper!” She undid the knot of Dave’s loincloth, pulled it off and cast it aside. Barbara raised her arms to aid David as he quickly pulled her dress up and over her head. Her fingers returned to his half-stiff rod and grabbed it. Dismounting from his thigh, she took a step back and led him along by his cock to the waterline.
“Oh dear, Barbara. In the water? We tried this before.” He winced at the memory. “Davey was sore for days.”
“Don’t you worry,” she moaned. “This time, I’m greased for the both of us.”
They waded out into the surf until the crests reached high enough to lick against David’s navel while keeping his slowly hardening cock submerged during the waves’ lowest reach. Turning around to face her husband, Barbara giggled excitedly. She lowered herself backwards into the water and moved her arms and legs slowly as she adjusted her body’s floating position.
“Right, David. Grab my legs and steady me. Mmmh. Now pull me closer —”
“Bit difficult, aiming like this,” he groaned as his cock only grazed her swollen labia and was deflected by her luscious buttocks. The hemispheres slipped over the veined surface, bending the almost stiff pole downward.
“No, just hold my legs steady, I’ll do the rest,” Barbara replied. Her left hand’s fore and middle finger spread the pads and the wrinkles of her labia while she trapped the rim behind his glans in her right hand and aligned him. Her welcoming cave felt boiling hot against the cool ocean as he slid in by about two inches. David’s face screwed up. The skin of Barbara’s outer lips clung to the silky and sensitive wrinkles of his rolled-back foreskin, tugging painfully as the two stuck together.
“Nnngh! Told you —,” David muttered, getting ready to pull out. Barbara’s soles pressed into his waist and locked him in place.
“Not so fast, my bull. Here — said I’m greased — guuunnnngh—” Barbara’s deep inner muscles contracted, and some of her pent-up viscid secretions squeezed out around the peach-cone of his head.
“—Hhaaaaah!” she groaned delightedly as moments later he almost fell all the way into her hungry cave. Her ample honey-thick juices remained like a ring around her folds and supplied a steady coating to lube the whole length of David’s invading flesh.
Barbara moved her hips, searching for an angle that felt right to her. The gyrations shook through her whole body and made the hemispheres of her breasts quiver, their motions greatly dampened and slowed down by the water all around her. With her body nearly completely underwater, only her face and the upper part of her areolae and the crinkled crowns of her stiff nipples broke the surface.
“And now — just let me float, just take care not to slip out all the way,” she sighed, giving herself up to sea’s motions.
Dave groaned blissfully, never letting his wife’s breathtaking torso out of his sight. She was relaxed to the core. Her limp body floated and undulated with the waves, adrift almost like a soft piece of cloth.
Barb held her legs in a split, angling her knees so he could steady her by her ankles. She was open to him, wider than ever before, and David moved in and out smoothly and easily, with just enough friction to keep him aroused but not enough to take him over the edge yet. Unlike the last time, Barbara’s juices now clung to the skin of his cock, providing ample lubrication while not dissolving in the water at all.
As the waters retreated on the rear of each wave, Barbara floated down and away from him. He slid out, only to feel her rise again moments later with the next incoming crest, the currents driving her closer again, impaling her smoothly on his cock until her slick folds engulfed him completely and the collision of her soft, padded vulva with his member’s root and the sensitive patch of skin between the engorged staff and his balls marked the apex of the long strokes.
In, out. Barbara’s eyes slowly rolled back as she felt her climax building with each stroke. Slowly, slowly now, there’s no hurry, she restrained herself, resisting the urge to clamp all her insides down on her husband’s trunk with the swollen veins embedded in the silky coat of skin over the unyielding, fully engorged tissue beneath. Just a twitch of her muscles, she knew more wouldn’t be necessary to whisk her away into the clutches of a rampant orgasm. And yet —
Open! Need to — keep myself open —, she groaned inwardly. The smooth glans of David’s cock rushed in again. Its tip tickled against the deep end of her vagina as she bottomed out, and the rear ridge of the hot cone rubbed straight across the ring of her cervix.
Must — hold — b—back — b — baaggnnghh!
The huge, swollen rod retreated again, sliding out inch by inch, dragging its relief of veiny bumps and ridges across Barbara’s sopping flesh.
Can’t hold — oh the gods, the next time I’ll — I’m — about to —
David’s hands pulled on her legs to hold her back, keeping his cock’s head just barely inside her. The next wave came along, and Barbara knew she was about to lose the fight. And losing felt so good —
The water began to rise again, lifting her shoulders. Her back arched as it followed the wave’s drawn-out curvature. Her breasts dove under ever so slightly, just enough to send a chill into her nipples, then they broke the surface again. Barbara’s heightened senses told her of the change in her body’s momentum. The wave moved by, taking her against David’s unyielding posture. Her vagina widened around the throbbing glans as it moved into her again. Along the way, hot spurts tickled against her inner membranes, and she realized she wasn’t the only one losing it. His seed added to the ample lubrication. Barbara’s muscles contracted, unable to hold back the solid meat that ran her through but strong enough to create enough gooey friction to set all her nerves ablaze. She stared up to her beloved conqueror, admiring his raptured face.
Oh my love — my — co — co—ooaah—!
The next wave had no chance to separate the T-shape of the couple’s frozen bodies as Barbara’s legs clutched around her husband’s hips, trying to cram him all the way into her milking, sucking depths.
Chapter 8: Suspicion
Three weeks later, on a sizzling midsummer’s night.
“Dave,” Barbara rasped, writhing lazily on the ground, her legs far apart. Her crotch felt a mile wide, raw and dripping wet with both several loads of his cum and her seemingly endless fluids.
“Can’t —,” he moaned, fighting for breath, flat out on his back by her side. “Too much. Not — again. Please.”
Barbara opened her eyes, but it didn’t make much of a difference.
“Dave, it’s night. Night! Did we — do it the whole evening?”
“I would think so. I remember we stood in the surf for maybe an hour, then — I never thought I could — and that thing you did with your tongue, heavens, Barbara! What has gotten into you?”
She licked her lips and ran her fingers over his chest and down over his stomach.
“Oh, I know what got into me, several times,” she smirked. “Besides, what did you expect, leaving me alone and burning for almost a week? Bedtime now. And maybe one more hug for good night’s sake, eh?” Barbara groaned happily. “Now that was the kind of ravishing that the village women only gossip about.”
Her fingers traced the curves of her slightly sagging voluptuous chest and neared her hard nipples. She hesitated and only put a fingertip on the swollen protrusion. Even the faint touch made her gasp for air.
“Gods, my nipples, I thought they’d burst. And they’re so touchy, all of a sudden. Just look at my chest! You’ve sucked and licked so much, it’s all red and swollen!” She giggled. “I’ve got glowing boobs!”
She squeezed her handfuls together and peeked down into her newfound cleavage.
“See this? And here I was so scared of finally getting a little bit of meat there! And now I like it so much. You’ve pounded the love of my tits right into me.” Her face brightened. “Need you again,” she smiled. “Come and harvest these big juicy apples!”
David shook his head. “Barbara, it’s — hhhhh!” Her fingers closed around his flaccid manhood and made little milking motions. He couldn’t help it; his body scraped up his last reserves and responded.
“You were saying?”
“Barbara, this is wrong. This feels wrong. It’s like something’s there inside you, making you do things, making you think things, changing you. Far be it from me to doubt Leta’s wisdom, but maybe it’s this thing after all.” He picked up the thin chain of the pendant that clung to his wife’s sweat-covered, glistening skin.
“Oh come on, Dave. It’s me. Don’t tell me you don’t like what you’re getting. Isn’t that why we got married after all? So we can go ahead and know each other for hours on end?” she smirked, her teeth a thin line of white in the darkness.
Dave shook his head. “Sweetie, listen. The coachman said he’d heard of a traveling witch who set up camp near Roughwater village. How about I take the pendant, pay that old crone a visit and let her take a look at it?”
David gently pulled the chain over Barbara’s head, only to feel her fingernails digging into his wrists.
“Don’t. Mine,” growled his wife’s suddenly-not-so-lovely face.
“What?” he gasped, only to find that the feral shadow on her features had disappeared as quickly as it had come. He pinched his eyes hard. Her expression was just as soft and gentle as ever, and David wasn’t sure anymore if it hadn’t been his worried mind playing tricks on him in the twilight. He almost choked on his words when he uttered, “Barbara, what did you just say?”
“I said, I don’t mind. Take it, if it makes you happy,” she sighed and drew the thin chain over her head herself. The metal jingled faintly as it curled up on the tabletop. “See? Not wearing it, still me. Haven’t changed at all. Haven’t grown, not even an inch, for weeks. And don’t say I wouldn’t have noticed, because my gown agrees.”
Her fingers circled her swollen nipples again, and she let out a throaty sigh. “Why are you spoiling the mood? Don’t you think I’d notice if I were not myself anymore? Why do you think I embarrassed myself and sneaked to Leta? But if it’s you who needs a little reassurance now and it makes you feel better, then go and show it to that old crone.”
Her fingertips traced his pectorals. She rolled over and lowered herself on his body, warm skin sticking to warm skin, slowly spreading her legs.
“Tomorrow. And until then —”
Moonlight shone in through the open window. Barbara stirred slightly in her sated sleep. Dave rested motionlessly by her side, exhausted and sucked dry.
The beach was bathed in pale blue light. Her toes dug into the night-cool sand. She blinked, but the scenery remained out of focus and constantly moving.
“So nice of you to pay us another visit, but it’s not yet time, my dear,” whispered a woman’s soft voice behind her shoulder. Barbara froze. Gentle fingertips traced her bare hips and slid higher, diving into the fold beneath her surprisingly heavy breasts. They followed her voluptuous curves before circling the hard nipples. “Not much longer, though,” chuckled the invisibly entity. Her hands couldn’t even cup a third of the mammoth fulness of Barbara’s melons, and the warm flesh bulged through her wide-spread, slender fingers.
Blurred spots in front of Barbara grew more solid as they closed in. Half floating, half walking, a dozen or more of them slowly approached her, shadows of graceful women with no details or features, their bodies moving like waves, their wide hips rolling. They sang to her, but the young woman couldn’t make out words. It was just vowels, soft, soothing and sweet. And then their fingers joined in exploring Barbara’s skin, caressing her face, her shoulders, the bulging roundness of her breasts, the sensitive inside of her thighs. She didn’t move, needn’t move at all, she knew in her heart she was safe in the one place meant for her.
Fingertips touched her neck. The strokes stopped, and then those curious fingers were gone, scattering like a school of fish. Two hands grabbed her upper arms, pinning them to her side.
“What have you done?! Where is your pendant, Barbara?” hissed the woman behind her, her mouth only inches from Barbara’s ear.
“Come on, where is the pendant?” whispered Dave into her ear.
Barbara jolted in her bed. She sat up straight and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Morning sunlight came in low through the small window. Blinking cleared the fog in front of her eyes and revealed that her husband was already dressed for the long walk to where the witch was supposed to be.
“Y’said I sh’nt wear it. So, bedpost,” she mumbled as she ran her fingers through her tangled golden hair.
“Bedpost where?” Dave looked around.
“Over there.” Kneading her stiff neck with one hand, she waved with the other vaguely in the direction. “Oh the gods, my pussy’s killing me. I won’t be able to walk for a week. And these pumpkins will just get in the w—”
Her hand brushed over her chest, and she sighed. “Sorry. Just a dream. Imagine, me with a chest like Bertha Blacksmith. I’d just topple over, I guess. Those girls are enough of a load as they are.” She rolled about to get out of bed as something hard touched her thigh.
“No, wait,” she stuttered and searched under the covers until she unearthed the silver chain. “It’s in here. But — but I know I hung it on the bedpost. I know it! I swear I did!”
David gulped and took it from his wife’s grasp. “I — I need to get this thing to that witch. This is getting weirder day by day.” He wrapped the silvery metal into a piece of cloth and bent over his backpack to stow it, all the while continuing, “First you’re struck down, then you turn ravenous, now you dream of even bigger breasts, and —”
“Bring it back!” she growled behind his back. He gasped for air and jerked around.
“Barb—?”
She stared at him, her face all worried and longing. “I said, bring back your amazing body in one piece, promise? Now that we can get together properly, we’ve got a whole year’s worth of catching up to do!”
He nodded slowly as he backed away. “O—of course.”
Chapter 9: The Witch
David’s feet ached, and while he easily held his balance aboard his tiny boat, here between the trees the uneven ground and the roots and stones slowed his walk down to a crawl. It didn’t help that nightfall had turned the forest into a black maze. Dave barely managed to hold his bearing, glancing at the stars whenever a rare gap in the roof of branches opened up. He was supposed to be close to the witch’s current lair now, but nobody had told him just how huge the woods near Roughwater were.
Almost nobody had been willing to tell him that there even was a witch, much less where she lived. The whole endeavor seemed like an elaborate hare and hound game, the only hints being hushed whispers from the corner of mouths, and Dave couldn’t bear to hear the phrase “ain’t got this from me, but—” any more. And the deploring glances, gods, how he loathed them by now. “Such a nice lad, why would he need the help of you-know-who —”
A red light twinkled in the distance. He caught it from the corner of his eye. Just a single misstep to the left or right, and the faint beacon was gone again. It could be anyone’s campfire, but what choice did he have? David homed in on it.
The full moon rose and poured a little light into the dark clearing. Dave cautiously approached the small fire. Half a piglet stuck on a twig over the fireplace, headless and sizzling in the heat. Droplets of fat spattered and caught fire, and the meat facing the flames had begun to turn into coal. A knapsack rested against a tree stump, and a crumpled blanket laid nearby.
“H—hello?” he whisper-called, and was half ready to turn and run. Except he wouldn’t be caught dead turning his back to the clearing. No, he was determined to stumble backwards, step by tiny step, until no sparkle from the flames was visible through the forest, and only then would he spin on his heels and run like chased by all the hounds of hell.
The chill of the flat side of the knife at his throat went unnoticed over the sting of nails digging into his neck. They weren’t fingernails. They were claws, piercing his skin.
“What you want?” growled a female voice, soaked in a guttural foreign accent.
Dave raised his hands, slowly, to allay the nervous girl who now stood hunched up in front of him. A blackened knife shone dully in her grip, and from what little of her face he could make out against the backdrop of the fire, she sneered at him. The blade moved from left to right and back again. The hand holding it trembled under barely contained tension, ready to strike any moment.
“Come now, what you want?” she repeated.
“Not here to hurt you,” he stammered.
“A man sneaking through the forest at night, and he’s not out to hurt me,” hissed the tense young woman.
“I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m looking for a witch living around these woods, but I can’t find her and then I saw your campfire.”
She straightened and reluctantly lowered the blade.
“Why would someone look for a witch? Most people are quite eager to avoid them, from what I’ve heard.”
“Listen, woman, no need to stand around here in the darkness, right?” Dave suggested. “I’m going to slowly walk to your fire, and I’ll sit down so I can’t jump at you. See? I’m no danger to you at all.”
She pondered for a few moments.
“Alright, but no sudden moves, stranger, or I’ll gut you like that pig,” she growled, retreated back towards the campfire and beckoned him to follow.
“My goodness,” Dave wheezed and stared. “You’re — you’re all black!”
“More of a brown, actually,” she sighed. “And it’s a perfectly healthy color for me. You’re the one who’s sickly pale as sand. So, what about this witch business of yours?”
Dave remained silent and just stared at her. She stood almost to his height. A flaring skirt of durable, red wool hinted at quite chunky hips and luscious buttocks, and her chest was exceptionally developed as well. The taut, velvety skin of her bulbous breasts, squeezed up and out by her bustier, met in a deep crevice. She couldn’t be much older than twenty years, though her strange complexion made it hard for him to guess her age. The fire’s light illuminated her wrinkle-less features from the side now and reflected in the silvery cord hooks that struggled to hold close her narrow bodice of black and red cloth.
Women can be like this? There’s so much of her squeezed into that dress, she has even Menena beat for chest — he thought.
Dave’s reluctant hostess followed his wandering gaze and rolled her eyes.
“Seen enough?” she snarled. “Forget it right away. I’m tired. Not going to twirl my hips for you for a handful of coins.”
“You’re — a dancer?” gasped Dave. “One of those women? No! That’s not why I came here! I’m faithful! I’m married!”
“Ooh, I like it how you make a spoken dancer sound like a screamed whore,” she snapped back. “Cut it out. You wanted the witch?”
She squatted down on the other side of the campfire and tore a lump of meat from her the half-charred, impaled dinner. Her plump, reddish lips spread into a wide, mirthless grin.
“You found her.”
She sat cross-legged now, the flames between her unwelcome guest and herself, and kept mustering him from underneath furrowed brows. Her teeth shone brightly against the dark brown of her skin. Dave had heard about the farawayers, stories and tales handed down by the sailors of the tall ships. She didn’t seem like a man-eater to him, though, but she wasn’t a friendly host either. Mine, something in her eyes said. Ask for a piece of that piglet, and you’ll regret it.
David gulped.
“You’re pretty — young for a witch,” he mumbled, avoiding her piercing stare.
“Well, where d’you think old witches come from?” she snapped back. “What’s it now? You came here to chit-chat? It’s been a rough day, so either you tell me what you want, or get lost. Where you from, anyway?”
Don’t tell her. Never tell a witch where you live.
“Uh, a—round. Around. Just, around these parts.”
She waved the bone she had been chewing on in his general direction.
“Trying to be a clever one, you are, eh?” Her mouth formed a derisive smile. “Fear the witch, even if you need her. Suit yourself, fisherman.”
He twitched. “How could you —”
She tapped the side of her broad nose. “Hard to get rid of, your work’s smell. Name’s Yrba, by the way.
“No, don’t tell me yours. I’ll just call you — dunno — ah, Dave’s going to suit you just fine,” Yrba laughed hoarsely.
David fumbled in his knapsack and pulled out the pendant, letting it dangle from its delicate chain.
“This here. That’s why I came. I think it has powers. My wife — she’s been wearing it, and she has, uh, changed since.”
Yrba shrugged and kept gnawing on the bone.
“Most women change once they get their hands on jewelry,” she muttered with her mouth full. “Hold it higher.”
David raised his arm. The light sparkled on the silver and the blue crystals.
“Ooh, pretty!” whistled the witch and tossed the bare bone back over her shoulder. She pushed her skirt up and wiped her hand on her naked thigh before she reached for the palm-sized disk.
The next moment, she cursed out loud, her voice barely intelligible on account of the five fingers she crammed into her mouth. David jerked back. Yrba sucked on her aching fingertips, with her plump lips almost wrapped over her knuckles.
“Gwammib! Mmmph! Curses! Didn’t see that coming. Stings like hell, that little bugger!”
She shook her hands and flexed her fingers. “Right, once more with feeling. Hold it steady, need to —”
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she massaged her temples, then her forehead. Her chest swelled under her heavy breathing, and a low, long-drawn “oooooommmmm” reverberated through her body before she started whispering.
“— Slowly, slowly — getting there — hoommmmm — something like a fog, a whirl —” Her fingers closed in again, carefully this time, like working themselves through a jumbled net, until suddenly she snatched the trinket.
“Gotcha, you little bitch!” Yrba’s thumbs stroked over the surface, gently caressing the crystal nubs. “Mmmh. You like that, huh? Yeees you do, you horny little nipple. Come on, show me what you are. Nice little toy. Very nice little toy. What’s it that you do? —Whoa, dammit, that’s a hellofalot of power in such a little thing!”
Her pupils rolled back to the front, and she blinked rapidly and raised her eyebrows.
“Okay, strange guy, that’s not just a pretty pendant. Your wife carried it close to her body? She didn’t feel something like a sting or whatever?”
Dave shook his head.
“And you didn’t respond to it either,” the young witch continued. “I guess the both of you are just common people, eh? No history of seeing white wisps of fog or whirls of stars around things. Means you’re easy prey for whatever power hides in there.”
“Prey? What — what does it do? My wife, she’s grown after she wore it.”
Yrba raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“Grown in her, ah, womanly parts, I mean, and she got insatiable for, uh, the kind of things, err, married people do,” Dave stuttered on and fell silent.
More jumping eyebrows.
“I mean — I’m pretty, uh, big, if you know what I mean, and she never could t—take me all the way in, or at all, but suddenly, she finds that pendant, and the very next thing, she sits on me and I’m — up to the hilt, I mean…”
His voice tapered off. Yrba glanced at his crotch and snickered.
“U—huh. Sure. You’re too big for women. You know what a woman’s fun chute is really meant to let through, don’t you? I doubt you’re that big.”
“Well, ah, no, but —”
Dave sighed and looked away, clenching his hands into fists.
“Listen, it’s hard enough telling you all this, so, her — her down below, she was too tight, and she’s much bigger now. I’m sure. And she — we — ahem — for whole afternoons and straight into the nights. Not that I don’t like it, it was the best, but — I mean, magic —”
The witch exhaled and rubbed her temples.
“Yeah, fine. That’s one thing you’re right about. That little thing is chock-full of magic alright, strong magic, and it keeps eating it up and stuffing itself, even now. I don’t know what it does. Or rather, what that trinket wants. Can tell you that it surely doesn’t collect its strength to make your wife right for you or to make the pair of you ahem all evening, though. That’s not how these things work. Trust me, I know enough about healing, and making things grow, to recognize them when I see them, and that one here isn’t out to do that.”
Yrba cocked her head.
“If I were you, I’d get rid of it. Fast.”
A smile curled the corners of her mouth, and the chain of the pendant tensed between her grip and David’s.
“Just so you know, I’ve got plenty of experience, disposing of magical items. If you give it to me, you have my word that you’ll never see it again in your life.”
Bring it back, David.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” Dave stuttered. “I mean, I can’t just give it away, can I? Maybe someone might want it back, and I — I’m not really —”
“You leave it to me!” hissed the witch, and suddenly, she didn’t seem so nice and friendly anymore. David grabbed the chain hard, yanked the pendant from her grip and jumped up to run.
Yrba’s angry scream echoed through the nightly forest. David didn’t wait around to listen to her toppling, screeching voice.
The young witch knelt by the fire, stooping over her hands, swaying back and forth. Tendons bulged all over her neck and dragged the corners of her mouth down. The white teeth in her lower jaw shone red in the flickering fire.
“You stupid bastard! May the magic cut and gut you, you numbskull!” she howled after the fleeing man before she sagged from her haunches to her well-padded buttocks. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Hissing and groaning, she opened her fists and took a look at her now moist, glistening skin. Tiny red droplets swelled from the hair-thin slices that crisscrossed over the mocha skin of her palm. Yrba clumsily fumbled a clean cloth from her travel sack and clenched her fingers around it.
“Don’t want my advice?” she moaned, biting her lips in pain. “Fine! Go and get yourself eaten by whatever monster this stupid thing conjures up! See what you’ll get then. Oh fuck does it burn!”
Chapter 10: Bigger by the Bucketful
He’s gone two days now, Barbara mused as she used the last daylight to add another layer of stitches to her clothes’ seams. Dave must be with the witch now.
She sat naked at the table in the hut’s kitchen and general purpose room, stewing in her own sweat. The summer heat outside was just as bad. Barbara pinched her eyes hard. The lids itched with salt.
Eyes tired. Can barely see — ouch!
She threw needle and thread on the table and the gown after them before she sucked on the fingertip she just pricked. “Enough for today,” she muttered and rose. Her ears rung faintly, and her temples ached. Really must stop squinting so much, my head’s killing me.
The sun’s disk was already beneath the horizon. The last reddish glow in the west lost out to the blue hues of the night as Barbara stepped out into the yard and wandered over to the well. The sultry air clung to her sweaty skin. She pulled up a bucket full of cold water and raised it to her mouth.
“Ahhh—!” she sighed happily, lowered the bucket and ran the back of her hand over her mouth. Her tongue circled her lips. Sweeter than the sweetest wine.
A frown curled her brow as she stared at the empty pail in her hand. Did I just guzzle a whole bucket of water—? she wondered and took a step backwards.
Something on her front jiggled on after she put her foot down. Barbara lowered her eyes.
Her banshee’s wail echoed through the night.
“No! Oh please, not this!” Barbara howled. Her hands patted over a belly that shielded her legs and feet from her eyes and still kept on swelling. The dome of taut skin bloated out of her midriff by almost half a yard until it ended in a navel projecting another inch further, driven out of her potbelly’s curvature by the inhuman pressure growing inside the sphere. Her panic increased as she felt herself slowly coming apart. The sphere spread out further as its filling seeped in between Barbara’s skin and muscles and dissolved whatever held the two together. Its growing weight forced the edge of the swelling lower, and it crept under the skin of her triangle of blond curls, spreading and thinning it as the flesh of her mound of venus expanded.
That’s what all of us women go through, but we don’t talk about it.
Barbara desperately held on to that thought, trying to keeping her mind from snapping. Oh the gods, I never knew — and if I’d known before, I’d never have dared to tell anyone — I’d never have believed either — oh no, it’s about to — eeeeeyyyaah!
The rippling, watery filling reached the top of her outer labia and sloshed into the willing receptacles. The slim folds between her legs thickened while her lust knob swelled to strawberry size, palpitating nervously. Barbara tried to squeeze her thighs together. The groaning and creaking of her hip bones vibrated through her whole body. Her inner lips, slick with her thick secretion, slip-slid out as they bloated too big for her vulva to keep them concealed inside. She let go of her belly that flopped down on her lower arms as she dug her hands into the wrinkly petals of swollen skin. The bolt of arousal hit her, taking her breath away. She dropped to her knees, and the impact forced another pint of stuffing into her nether regions. Her fingers squeezed and kneaded, trying to hold back the incessantly enlarging gate.
Mmmnnh — feels — good, spluttered her scrambled thoughts. Her tight grip just barely stopped the bloating. Gobs of her warm juices seeped through her fingers, elongating into threads with thick drops at the end that slowly descended towards the ground.
Its obvious avenue denied, the bloat of her belly wandered higher, detaching her skin from her ribs, until the edge of the straining bulge touched the underside of her breasts. It seemed to hesitate for a moment, gathering momentum.
Barbara gasped for air as half of her enormous paunch’s stuffing breached the borders of her breasts’ roots and shot like an ice-cold wave up into the delicate flesh. The sphere shrank marginally while her mammaries jumped up and out, only to slap down on her bizarre belly-boob moments later. For a moment, all of Barbara’s bloated front was a quivering, rippling ocean trapped in almost overwhelmed girl skin. Her chest slowed in its growth and finally stopped. The undersides of her boobs tickled at the onset of her navel’s small dome.
It’s never as bad as it seems in the mind, she repeated Leta’s soothing words. I’m not that big. I’m not. My skin’s just too sensitive. I’m not that swollen. These breasts don’t hang down beneath my navel — heh! Navel! My navel’s a teat, and I can barely reach it! — No! Not real! Just in my mind! — Not nine months preggers with triplets. It’s all just in my mind.
Cradling the overwhelming proof to the contrary in her arms, its drum head-tight skin covered in her wet hand prints, she staggeringly navigated the kitchen and into the bedroom. Every heavy, insecure step made the pair of her pumpkin-sized mammaries shake and quiver on top of the billowing belly-orb in her clutch. Leaving a wide, slimy smear on the blanket, she sat down on the rough mattress, humming to herself, All is well, I’m not bigger, nothing’s wrong. Keeping her eyes trained on the full moon outside the window as it rose from the sea, she banned any acknowledgement of the rousing sensations in her rear that told her, mmmh, don’t forget that mare’s ass, huge and firm and round and oh don’t you want to knead and squeeze it already?
“No!” she hollered into the silence of the hut and let herself fall back onto the bed. Too late did she realize that it wasn’t just her ordinary shape that came down along with her torso. Her belly almost squeezed her stomach up her throat, and the bloated mountains of her breasts sloshed on the bed and tried to splay sideways. Barbara gnashed her teeth in the pain of her skin struggling near its tearing point. The delicate wrapper held and forced the malleable flesh into a circular swing that ended up slapping against her cheeks before it contracted strenuously back into the two massive heaps of glands that now quivered to the left and right of her ribs while her breastbone felt as if it would rip through the taut skin over it.
Gods, have mercy! So — heavy!
Barbara’s one hand grabbed the wrinkled bed sheet. She threw her other arm over her sweaty brow, sealing her eyes from the world. Need to sleep. Just sleep. Tomorrow, all will be normal. Sleep! It’ll go away! It’s just the night, it’s just a trick, a nightmare, go to sleep —
Sleep —!
Sleep — slee — slp —
Hhhhhh —, and finally her body relaxed.
Have I been here before? It feels so familiar — like I’m home —
“Not yet, though one day you’ll be,” whispered a woman into her ear.
“Gaaaah!” shrieked Barbara, her own voice echoing in her head, spun around and tripped over her own feet. She fell slowly, and when her ass finally hit the ground, it felt good, like falling on a fluffy pillow. She sensed the shock wave of the impact rippling leisurely through her body. This was all just so very wrong — and yet so familiar…
Hands gently took hold of her and put her back on her feet. The hands’ owners were but shadows in the corners of her sight. She only had eyes for the tall woman in front of her, but she couldn’t make out any details over the blinding glitter of the apparition’s tight, almost overfilled dress. She tried to look at her face, but it was gone from her mind the very next moment. Just the impression of a caring yet somewhat hungry expression remained in Barbara’s thoughts.
“Who are you?” stuttered the fisherman’s wife.
The strange woman without a face smiled, slunk closer and ran her fingertips along Barbara’s neck and shoulders.
“A friend,” was her delayed answer as she finished circling her and stood again face to face with the young woman. “We’re all friends here. And we’d like you to become our friend, too.” She gently leaned in. Her wet, pouted lips brushed over Barbara’s.
“You — taste salty,” stammered the confused girl. “Like my husband’s seed.”
She blushed, jerked back and slapped her hands over her mouth.
The tall woman smiled some more and cocked her head.
“You’ll learn one day that there’s a reason for this, my dear.”
She closed in again. Her hand touched Barbara’s cheek.
“And you like that taste, don’t you?”
The stranger’s fingers guided Barbara’s jaw. She didn’t resist, because it was inevitable, and it was right, so very right.
Their lips met, and the apparition’s wet tongue parted Barbara’s pouted lips and snaked into her mouth.
That’s not quite a taste, Barbara thought. It was a hint of salt, and of something else. It was almost a non-taste, but it left her longing for more now when just a week ago it might’ve left her gagging.
“Mmmh,” moaned the young woman. She wrapped her arms around the stranger’s head and squeezed her tight. Her own tongue stretched into that salty, delicious mouth and sampled more of the alluring taste. Copious saliva trickled into Barbara’s mouth. She swallowed it gladly. It tasted exactly like Dave’s seed.
The chorus of voices started again. The silver-wrapped woman returned Barbara’s fierce embrace, and the touches of the many body-less hands returned as well. Barbara squirmed happily. Her lips gnawed on the other’s. Her tongue drew more of the salty goodness into her mouth. The trickle slowly turned into a stream, and its texture changed from water to a thick, hot fluid.
“Drink it,” voices whispered by her side. “Drink it all. Oh, there’s so much of it, all the better for you to swell.”
The hands circled her midriff, and the more daring ones took caressing detours over her chest time and again.
“So much room in there,” the whisper went on. “So much room, and so much milk waiting to be made. But first, the cow must be bred, she must be primed.”
The other woman’s embrace changed, her hands grabbed the back of Barbara’s head, and she locked their lips solidly. She rolled back her eyes until only white shone out from under her half-dropped eyelids. Her body’s spasms carried through Barbara’s limbs as well.
She’s a cock, shot through Barbara’s mind, and her eyes opened wide. She’s a giant cock looking like a woman, and now she’s going to — to cum into me! She’s — she’s —
Drink! Drink! Drink! echoed in her head.
The tide spurted into her like a hot, solid rod being rammed down her throat. The invisible hands clutched her bloating belly and squeezed hard. Any little bulge projecting from between spread-out fingers met another cupped hand and was pushed back in moments later, until her midriff was stuck in a vise of hands, her skin almost humming from pressure.
“Do not want. No big belly. Not for into there,” came the whisper.
Barbara convulsed, her body twitching with each rapidly coming wave streaming into her. The liquid that was forced down her throat tried to go anywhere. It soaked into her flesh and carried heat and delight with it. Fingers grabbed her buttocks, and they swelled under the touch.
“Good place,” giggled a disembodied voice.
Drink! Drink! Drink! The chorus grew more urgent.
Another pair of hands ran along the underside of her breasts. Fingertips drew lines from her collarbones down to her nipples and met other fingertips coming from the sides.
“Better place,” other voices whispered. “Not enough! Need more!”
The heat of the torrent filling her up wormed through her flesh, drawn in by the kneading and prodding. Her skin burned, she felt the rising tension as the spongy, soaked padding in her breasts stretched and expanded. It struggled against her skin’s milky-white wrapping and made the flushed areolae bulge.
Drink! Drink! Drink!
A single fingertip tapped against the hood of her clit. The young woman jerked in the trammels of the hands holding her in place. Two more hands closed around her ankles. Their grip changed slowly, flattening until the palms and fingers laid flush against the insides of her shanks. The fingers wandered higher, caressing her legs’ insides. Tips first, nails scratching her skin every now and then, they passed her knees and ventured up her thighs.
“Best place,” moaned another voice.
Barbara couldn’t agree more, if only for a couple of heartbeats. She was brimming now, and that new hand kneaded her labia, it rubbed her swelling, reddening flesh as it was pumped bigger from the inside. Fingers slid between her plump outer lips and slowly opened her. The swarm of slippery hands stroked all over the insides Barbara’s thighs.
Slick and warm, the finger returned and traced down the pink crevice. It pushed lightly against Barbara’s pee hole before it went deeper and found the wrinkly gate, rimming the folds, dipping in time and again.
“Wrong, she is,” whispered a voice by Barbara’s ear. “Her insides, a girl’s of the land. Not ready for our pleasures. Too small. Too tight. Still too tight.”
“Glarg?” stammered Barbara into the seal of her feeder’s lips.
“Not wrong,” a warmer voice objected from the other side. “Just different, not quite ready. The moon is strong tonight. We will make her right, now.”
One finger squeezed into her moist hole, then another. Barbara’s vulva spread and stretched, the cone of fingers slid in deeper, her lips were pulled wider. Barbara’s labia strained over a set of knuckles and contracted again. The fist in her started pumping up and down, gently at first but rapidly gaining speed and depth. Barbara tried to throw back her head, but the other woman’s hands cupped it and held her in place.
Two more fingers, from two different hands. The fist inside her didn’t stop while the new arrivals hooked into her reddened swollen flesh and pulled outward. The squelching and smacking grew louder as the piston drew air. Barbara’s climax closed in, and a big one at that. Her nethers were blazing with arousal.
More fingertips struggled in, belonging to two hands that placed themselves flush against the lower arm inside her as it was almost pulled out. The massive presence slid back in, and the pair of reinforcements that tripled its girth rode along all the way into Barbara. She felt her hips’ bones widen under the strain, her skin was pulled taut, then tauter still as the three arms parted inside her. Her womb swelled against the hip of the woman in front of her who didn’t let up feeding her the strange and salty liquid by the gallon. More hands dived into her. In this twilight world, Barbara’s womb made room easily. She sensed how her thighs rode apart and her hips took on the shape of a wide cone. Her insides were stroked in places never meant to be stroked. Throngs of fingers walked among her inner workings, tugging at them, fondling them, pulling and shifting them around. Knuckles and fingers, wrapped around strange tubular shapes, showed on the drumhead of her womb’s overfilled skin until things inside her calmed down again.
“Right, she is now,” announced the first voice full of contentment.
The swarm of hands surged out of her like fish spilling from a tightly-packed net, their slippery, slime-dripping shapes flapping down her thighs as her straining skin contracted again until only one hand, clenched into a tight fist, remained inside her and kept pumping up and down her vagina persistently. Barbara could sense and trace its every knuckle and pad, she felt her belly’s skin as it stretched to make room for the voluminous piston of flesh and bone. Her cave now guided the thrusts along her front and not towards her back and inside, and no longer was there any of the discomfort of being overfilled, of her delicate tissue being forced through and against the ring of her hips. She felt soft and malleable all around her sex, her body ready and willing to accommodate any bone thrown her way. Barbara almost sighed when the arm left her with a shluurgh.
Another brazen forefinger touched her clit, only to slip lower and into her gaping hole by about an inch. The thumb came down on her lust thimble and trapped her flesh in a pinching hold, rolling and squeezing it quite a bit beyond a light touch.
Barbara’s eyes bugged. Her new vagina bubbled as the dripping opening contracted, then that clench raced along the tube of muscles all the way to her insides. The cramp turned into waves of flexing and sucking, coming faster and faster until she climaxed like a geyser, erupting with pent-up seed from every hole that wasn’t used to pump her with the gallons upon gallons of heat. Her eyes rolled back and the world of delights descended into blackness as she fell, tumbling deeper and deeper, still clinging to that creature as it forced yet more of the liquid into her mouth —
“Oh gods … oh the gods …” moaned Barbara, twisting helplessly. “Don’t — no more, no more, I’m — bursting — full — ouch!”
She stubbed her toes on the bedpost and jerked awake. Her head spun. She blinked and looked around. Ceiling. Wood. Side of the bed. Cold floor against her aching back. She distinctly felt a bruise or two on her ribs where her tumble from the bed had landed her right on her sandals.
How did I get into my bed? Last thing I remember, I was mending the seams on my gown, then something about being fat and round —
Clenching her eyes tightly and holding her breath, her trembling fingers neared her belly. She exhaled loudly when they told her that nothing was wrong at all with the firm landscape of muscles beneath the cutest, sleekest layer of padding.
Oh heavens, I could have sworn I was knocked up beyond belief. No, wait, that doesn’t make sense either. So Leta was right about ‘just in the mind’ after all. I must’ve been out of it yesterday. Must’ve been the heat, just like when Sandy started babbling about dragons, that one time after she’d spent the whole day out in the fields and forgot her water bag, the daft chit.
Hold on — ewwwww! What the blazes is that?
The insides of her thighs were coated in cold, sticky liquid that had partially dried. The few thin, barely visible hairs she had growing on her legs were glued to her skin now. No, worse than that, they were glued to the other leg’s skin. As she started to move, the nipping and pinching accelerated her awakening significantly. The smell of marine life that rose from her lower body was very nearly palpable.
Ugh! Gods, is there any way this could be more embarrassing? groaned Barbara. I know I’ve always been a juicy one, but that’s just ridiculous! If Dave were here, he’d have thrown a fishnet over me by now. And knocked me over the head with a peg, and I couldn’t even blame him. What is wrong with me? What happened yesterday, I can’t quite — what’s wrong with my head?
Licking her lips, she struggled to her elbows. Something moved in front of her, it slid and shifted as her upper body came up. Barbara didn’t need to turn her gaze down much to glimpse the change. The first light of morning revealed that no human being in the whole world would’ve called what now bulged from her chest a mere handful.
“What the—?!” she screamed. Moments later, she was on her feet. It did nothing for the carousel in her head.
Her fingers wandered over her body, and slowly the distressed young woman calmed down again. Barbara explored her new shape, curvy and voluptuous, now rivaling the breathtaking figure of Menena, her former mistress from the village. No, strike that, she corrected herself. Her fingers walked over her slightly padded but supremely shapely midriff.
No way! My waist is thinner than hers! And thank goodness I’m not as wide in the hips as she is. And those —
Barbara felt up her underboobs and ran her thumbs along the soft outer curve of her mams. Her breasts’ bases had widened. Their skin’s outward curve started almost an inch further to Barbara’s flanks than the day before. She squeezed the warm masses in her hands. “Goodness, they’re big!” gasped Barbara. Her hands continued the cheeky inspection. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and groaned quietly.
Heavens, does that feel good! She breathed faster while trying to suppress the arousal kindled by her curious fingertips. The bulk’s about the same as Menie’s, but they’re neither hanging down to my navel nor sagging against my ribs, like hers.
Another squeeze, just to make sure.
Not much sag, at least. No, it’s barely sagging at all. Should I visit Leta and show her? Then again, ‘never as bad as in the mind’ doesn’t mean that nothing’s going on, just that it’s not as much as — heh, I could have sworn they were much more than the size of my head. This? Must be about the size of a small melon. That’s still bearable. But —
She stamped her foot in anger.
Damnation, all the sewing I did yesterday was but a waste of time!
She kneaded some more, just to get a feel for her new breasts.
Barbara frowned. What little sagging there had been only moments ago, now it was considerably less, almost nonexistent. And the dents her fingers made didn’t go so deep any more.
Uh, they feel stuffed now, I’m not sure if that’s supposed to —
Salt. Salt in her mouth. All of a sudden, the taste from weeks ago was back. It wasn’t as acerbic now, though.
Her nipples started to itch as they hardened, and heat began to boil in the overfilled orbs on her chest. She felt her breast flesh grow firmer as it rounded out. Under her skin, liquid moved towards the mammillae while they contracted and poked forward from the upwarding areolae.
“Right,” Barbara breathed nervously. She had no clear recollection, but the vague, orgasm-blurry pictures of that one time with Dave pointed to only one possible outcome.
Oh no! They’re about to spray! Nnngh—! Just — like with Dave — the last time — need to go outside — else — mess in here —
Pinching her nipples as hard as she dared, she staggered into the yard and dropped to her knees, stark naked in the morning sun. Barbara craned her neck to eye the taut skin of her bulging boobs as they swelled towards her chin. Her brimming breasts’ undersides fitted pleasingly well into her cupped hands as she changed her grip from choking to supporting her globes of womanliness.
Gods, so full, so heavy — need to squeeze it out —
Her fingers poked and pulled at her nipples. The thimble-sized protuberances were painfully hard, and the domed areolae behind them felt like little pockets chock-full of milk. A squeeze, and Barbara’s fingertips slipped and slid easily, now dripping and lubed with the first spray. She sagged to her haunches. Her kneading and rubbing coated all of her chest with the glistening, fatty liquid.
Yes, oh yes, out with it, overflowing —
The dry dirt in front of her received dark spray marks as long, thin arches of milk jumped from the many pores in her nipples and seeped away into the dust. Soon, Barbara sat at the center of a spider’s web of milk lines. Instead of emptying the hot three-quarter spheres in her hands, the kneading and squeezing only incited her glands to give it their all.
“Ghhh — Nnnghhh — Guuurrrrghhh—,” Barbara moaned and panted. She didn’t need to dig her fingers into the reddened, swollen flesh any more. All her ducts and glands emptied in a frenzy, spraying yard-long jets and squirts with total abandon. She just swayed and bucked on her haunches, holding on to the sensitive, oblong globes as they let down, and down, and down.
The sun had risen an hour into the day when the strange new delights finally ebbed and Barbara was able to catch her breath again.
Oh the gods, I didn’t need that at all, she muttered to herself as she struggled to her feet and gazed at the strange milk painting all around her. All of that — out of me? How much did I squirt? A bucketful?
Felt mighty good, though, something else in the back of her mind added, and she was in no position to object while she patted down her curves, swiping off the last stray droplets from her breasts’ glistening skin that felt soft and tender now. Yes, there was a lot of delight in that. Barbara frowned nevertheless when she cupped her mammaries. I swear they’re even bigger now. Must be the size of my head. Is there milk still pent up inside? She squeezed them, and the firm pressure fired up the nerves all through her globes, sending a shockwave of lust into her body. Another squeeze, and viscid wetness welled between her legs.
G—gods! Oh my, I could learn to like that, I really could! moaned Barbara, holding perfectly still to quench the sudden urge.
And Dave’s going to like this even more, she pondered. Now he’s got his wife and that hussy’s body, and all the milk he can swallow. With her hands on her narrow waist, she bounced up and down. Her pliable yet firm breasts rebounded a few more times, and her buttocks gave her similar sensations. Nice as they are, I sure hope that’s the last growth spurt, I’m now quite womanly enough for my taste.
To be continued ... in Siren Song Part 3: Ensnared And Enslaved!
And if you’re wondering where the mermaids are, then don’t miss Siren Song Part 4: No Other Way
Note: This information and the URLs are current as of May 2012.
Abridged version:
1) I like feedback. You like reading. You give feedback, I might write more stories. Deal?
2) Go there: http://overflowingbra.com/results.htm?varname=553
3) Look for title: “Siren Song - Part 2”
4) Press: “Rate me” (top left of corresponding story box).
5) “5” is like super-good. “1” is like “teh suxx.”
6) Thanks a lot!
Not-so-abridged version:
Of course I don’t know where you’ve found this story you just finished reading, so bear with me for a few seconds.
I originally uploaded it to a rather obscure fetish website called The Overflowing Bra, and you can leave comments and rate stories there. I’d be delighted to receive your feedback about this tale of mine. Loved it? Hated it? Want more? Want less? Head on over to the listing of my stories and tell me all about it:
http://overflowingbra.com/results.htm?varname=553
That page contains the whole list of stories I uploaded to TOB so far, with the oldest at the top (ugh … you may not want to start there — or end there — or whatev’, but starting from and including “Temple Treat Part 3”, the complaints became significantly less) 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.
Note that at the Overflowing Bra, “5” means best. “1” means worst. Not the other way around. You also might want to make sure you’re rating/commenting at the right story page, too. Otherwise, things might get confusing. I’m just sayin’, is all. ;-)
If you’d like to ask me something, or if you want to stay on top of new stories I publish (not that often), here’s how: I post and also keep an eye on the TOB forum, and I started an “update/feedback” thread that’ll auto-notify me if you add to it:
http://www.overflowingforum.com/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=2195
All right, I guess I’ve bored you enough with my ego for now.