Alpine Hideaway Magic Ch. 08

In no time, all four of the sick women found themselves downstairs and outside, near the animal pen. The sprawled on the grass, still unsteady from the effects of the fever but also in a heady state of sexual euphoria from both my cum and from the power of the mushroom stew. Their naked arses swirled in the air, as if begging some unseen god of the sky to come down from the clouds and fucked them rotten but their heads drunkenly rested in the grass with their tongues muttering all sorts of messy drivel. It was as though they'd all gone off on a horrendous bout of drinking and the bottle had gotten the best of them. Grandmother stood behind them, holding aloft the great bag with its bizarre three nozzles hanging like the legs of a stool. She scowled.

"Three nozzles, and four arseholes," she commented, "this won't do!"

With eyes shut, she muttered several words in the ancient tongue and pulled with two fingers at the bottom of the bag. To my amazement a fourth nozzle appeared in her hand. She drew at it; pulling it out in a long chord until its length matched that of the other three, more or less.

"Margarite," Grandmother directed, "prop up those arses high and do your best to hold those four drunken sows still! Stephen, I need you over here with me."

As Margarite placed the placed the four patients side by side with bottoms pointing to the clouds, Oma placed the strap of the heaving bag upon my shoulders. I immediately felt the bag's weight in my back and in my knees. Unmistakably, Grandmother had filled the great sack to its limits with the mushroom slurry. Now with a great HOCK, she began to spit upon each and every one of those upturned anuses; putting a large blob of saliva to them before feeding a nozzle carefully right behind.

The arses of the women swayed drunkenly with hoses hanging from each, like cattle in a chute awaiting some strange procedure from a veterinarian. There'd be no ear tagging here however; Grandmother had other business in mind! Grandmother stepped back behind the women and releasing a valve at the base of the bag, allowed the vile contents to flow.

There I stood, the bag hanging from my neck; towering in the morning sun over them, their four round bottoms offered up to me as they took their strange "treatment. I watched in fascination as they simply took and took and took from the bag, its mucky mushroom contents slowly emptying into the voids of their pink stink-holes. Presently I felt something on my schwanze. Warm and wet and sucking; it was none other than the mouth of my grandmother, upon her knees and eagerly fellating me.

"I figured it might need a good cleaning off," Oma said, eventually pulling my now stiff cock from her lips, "its just been up Gudrun's arse chute and I wanted it cleaned off before what comes next,"

"Which is?" I asked wryly with one eyebrow cocked.

Without a word Oma stood up, removed the slowly emptying bag from around my neck and placed it straps over her own before spinning around and bending slightly at the waist; her hands pulling the twin loaves of her round bottom apart to reveal her cunt lips and pink anal pucker. It was plain as day she wanted a bit of the cock the other women present had been enjoying.

I didn't need coaching. My hands steered my cockhead to the crater of her anus and I pushed. Blowing her air out as I gained entry Oma's stink-shutter opened as she took me into the loving squeeze of her arsehole. I commenced with a slow deliberate buggering of my grandmother while we both patiently witnessed the spectacle of the four rumps being filled.

Meanwhile, Tante Margarite busied herself at the heads of the four women, her arse resting in the grass and her face raised to catch the morning sun. She was enjoying herself immensely in her wanton nakedness, her crotched shoved first into the face of one delirious woman, then another, then another and then still another; each set of female lips and tongues gobbling madly at my auntie's crotch flower. Margarite of course was taking advantage of the situation to be sure; wanton sex fiend that she was! Her tattoos became a cartoon tapestry of all manner of Sapphic sexual depravity between women; women one on one, two older women seducing a young maiden, a group of young ladies bolting the door to a bedroom and jumping into a bed for a good rollicking frolic after the lady of the house had gone to bed down the hall - the list of woman on woman hedonism went on and on up and down her nakedness!

Oma's tattoos as well were ablaze with all forms of wanton depravity. Orgies rolled and boiled like a tossed sea of human flesh, here and there people whipped and spanked one another. In one inky cartoon a barnyard scene played out with nearly the same visual spectacle as what I was witnessing directly before me; four women with tubes up their arses showed their bared bottoms to the sky while behind them an older woman with an enema bag about her neck nursed over them; the bag slowly going slack as its contents emptied into the four round rumps. In front of the four, a woman shoved her cunt into the faces of each of the women. Behind the old woman a youth vigorously slammed himself into the naked old granny's rump. It was our scene to the last detail... complete with the chickens scratching around the yard!

At last the bag about Oman's neck appeared quite empty. Grandmother shot a look over her shoulder at me. She didn't want my buggering to end but she knew it had to be so. Smiling reluctantly she snapped her fingers, causing a great crash of thunder to shake the mountain and for me to spout an tremendous rush of semen up her hindquarters. The air once again smelled of sulfur, well-fucked arse, and magic.

"Margarite," Oman called out, "run inside and fetch more mushroom mud. I want these four arseholes positively FILLED to the rim!"

Margarite (who'd been enjoying herself supremely up until now), made a face of disappointment, as though Oma was being a terrible killjoy for her. In the end she relented at the stern glance of my grandmother. Oma loves a good time, a good party, and a good fuck as much as anyone, but if you cross her that searing glare of hers could melt solid rock. My aunt above all things knew her place. She arose and scurried her naked arse off through the door of the house, returning with the entire pot of what remained of the mushroom swampiness.

My grandmother opened the bag at the very top and held it open wide. She then told Tante Margarite to pour every last drop of the steaming brown sludge into the bag; commenting that she hoped this would be enough to finish the job on the guts of these four women. She then thought to herself. Holding the bag open she turned and faced me saying,

"Stephen, you've cum buckets both last night and this morning. Do you need to piss?"

"Oh yes actually I do, Oma!" I admitted. She'd kept me cumming and fucking and fucking and cumming for a good long time and now, well I needed to relieve my bladder in the worst way!

"Good," she said, placing the bag down low to my loins, "piss in here. I want every last yellow drop of your bladder-beer in this sack,"

"But why..." I started to ask but she interrupted with,

"Because your urine, mine, and Tante Margarites can also have healing capabilities; especially after all the mushroom potions we've had - also because I SAID SO! Now PISS BOY!"

I held my schwanze over the bag's open end between Grandmother's hands while she held things open for me and I commenced to relax. It didn't take long at all. The stream came, all sizzling-yellow and steamy; straight into the bubbling brown glop down in the bag.

Tante Margarite peered over Oma's shoulder at the sparkly ammoniated spectacle I was making into the bag and then a flash of inspiration registered across her face. She set the pot and wooden spoon down and stepped around the four seriously ill women prostrate in the grass. Realizing they were not only scandalously randy from the mushroom's effects (along with those of my semen), they were also quite susceptible to suggestion at the moment.

She had them come up and sit on their knees quite close together; in fact so close that their heads all touched, cheek to jowl. Ordering them to hold their mouths open, she half-turned and raised her leg in the manner of a hound seeing fit to relieve itself. As their jaws dropped open in unison, she let fly with a golden arc of piss that landed squarely in the middle of those upturned faces! Down those chins and up those noses splattered that hot stream of urine in a scene of utter perversion and depravity; not that the four women turned away from the blast - oh no! In fact, like women possessed with blazing thirst they each in turn caught the stream in their mouths; swallowing again and again as Tante Margarite shifted her hips around to accommodate each eager set of lips. The whole while she grinned devilishly at my grandmother and myself.

"More than one way to get the 'medicine' into these four," Margarite chuckled. Oma giggled in kind, shaking her head saying,

"Margarite, that whole process of boiling up the brew has made you a lust-filled harpy!"

"Thank you for noticing, Mother!" Margarite replied as she dropped her leg and affected an orchestra conductor's bow before raising her leg and continuing to piss some more. The four women, mad with lust and reveling in their own degradation seemed like baby birds; each greedily wanting to be fed by their parent as the piss-blast went from one open set of lips, to another, and another and still another.

At last Tante Margarite's stream abated and fizzled out, diminishing itself down to but a few ammonia raindrops on her pink cunt flaps, which she wiped with away with a finger before tracing it across the four crazed grins of the women on the grass. Each of the four was now drenched in sweat, their locks soaked and their temples running. The fever was making its last stand, (and with any luck our next move would end its grip on the poor hapless four).

My stream had long since ended and Oma seeing I was out of lemon-juice, now had me hold the bag low and low as she spun around in a half squat. Following her lead I held the bag open down between her thighs, careful to catch things as she commenced a piss of her own after grunting and cursing under her breath. The bag began to fill, and fill, and fill some more; eventually becoming quite heavy indeed.

Over on the grass before us Tante Margarite had placed the four women ( all drunk with fever), back into the head-low arse-high sort of arrangement as before. Once again their bottoms were side by side and quite close with rumps actually touching. The hoses still protruded from the four rectums; each sphincter already straining from the immense liquid pressure behind it from the first irrigation, and yet they would indeed hold fast as Grandmother (whose piss took only slightly less than a minute), held their guts fast with her mind. Just like our orgasms, the old witch would hold their evacuations until the right moment, (timing it with the fever's zenith). She'd had it all planned out!

As the last of her piss subsided, Oma raised a hand and bid me not to remove the bag from between her legs. What could it be now? A second later I had my answer.

Holding her arse cheeks apart she grunted and pushed. I then witnessed the lurid spectacle of her pink pouty arsehole as it opened and nearly turned itself inside out, (resembling something like a large rose blossom). Out from the depths of her guts poured my semen like gooey white lava; the slimy evidence of our incestuous buggery. It was all wonderfully crude and perverse; barbaric even! It was also all quickly deposited with a farting splat and dribble straight into the bag; save a few tell-tale spills of my seed still running down Oma's arse and thighs.

Oma now straightened up, spun about, and helped me to seal the bag. She then had me shake the pouch and its vile contents vigorously until all inside was thoroughly mixed. Over on the grass, I could see Tante Margarite flat on her back with her legs high, her crotch once again shoved into the faces of each woman in turn. It was like feeding time for the animals in the barn the way each waited patiently for a chance to gobble my aunt's pink quim-petals.

"Oma," I asked as she placed the bag's strap over my neck,"why would you have me fuck you in the arse to make the potion? Wouldn't it have been easier to simply have me pull my cock and spout directly into the bag?"

"Stephen," Oma confided, "we needed to combine my powers and yours into your seed. The act of sex was what brought it all together."

"Why your arsehole, Oma?"

"A girl has needs, yes?" she said sheepishly looking away, her tattoos showing people in all manner of awkward situations, unable to make eye contact with someone making an inquiry that they'd hope to avoid.

With a chuckle she slapped me playfully over the head for being too bright and inquisitive. She then reached behind me to slap me on the arse before then reaching for the valve at the base of the device. The foul stew began to flow.

Four round bottoms swayed and bumped nakedly into one another as the contents made the journey from the bag, straight into those upturned gut chutes. Four sets of groans rang out in the morning air as four bellies began to fill.. and fill.. and fill.

Presently four sets of hands came up from below, finding four cunts, still trickling my seed. Those hands began to vex and self abuse; pink puss flowers only too willing to receive such selfish treatment. It was a bizarre masturbatory quartet Oma and I were now witness to; each woman moaning and crying from the strain in their guts, (and the effects of the mushroom glop which wrestled with their fevers). That strange tug-of-war between magic and fever was raising the sexual ardor of each woman to new heights. It was then I knew.

"Oma, I understand!" I said, not taking my eyes from the scene.

"And what would that be?" she said, taking my cock in her hand and commencing to stroke it vigorously as her other hand rubbed at her sex and pinched at her nipples.

"You have created a great sexual madness in these three women, a hunger that is driving their lust and their temperature higher and higher! Just look at them sweating as they rub themselves like barnyard animals in heat; each of them eager to shove their face into Tante Margarite's cunt like they'd abandoned all sanity. You are pushing their temperatures higher and higher still .. to kill this fever once and for all!"

"Yes, Stephen," Oma said turning to me, "now you see! Well done!"

She turned back and continued to jerk my schwanze whilst her own hand teased and tortured her tits and cunt-nub in decadently indulgent self-abuse. We were building a sexual power; myself, Oma, and even Tante Margarite, (writhing down on the grass at the laps and licks of four greedy tongues).

The bag was empty now. Oma bid me to hold it high so as for the last of the contents to flow out and "in." Secure in the knowledge that it was indeed quite empty, she had me remove the bag from around my neck and cast it to the ground, its job done. She then pulled each tube from each poor tortured anus; careful not to lose the mental grip she had on each of those rectums. They simply would not blast their guts; not while she had a say in the matter!

She promptly then stepped away from the four unplugged rumps, bidding me to join her off to one side; well-out of the line of fire! I was now looking down all four bottoms in a lewdly laid out line as the women swayed, masturbated, and rocked; voices all choked moans and groans. These were clearly the wails of women with full guts needing to crap and with sexes needing release of a different but equally urgent nature. It was like all seven of us were creating a great pyscho-sexual dam with a simply enormous body of water steadily building up behind it.

Oma's hand was a blur on my cock as was the hand on her own cunt. The calls of the four women were now joined by that of my Tante Margarite, her hands grasping the head of my mother and pulling it hard to her crotch; her hips humping Mutti's lips and chin with vigor. Oma and I became all groans. How long had all this been going on now? I didn't know. I only knew I madly wanted to cum! Clouds above the mountain began to build and toss... It was then Oma raised her hand and her fingers snapped.. SNAP!

An enormous bolt of lightning flew from the clouds and struck the ground with a terrifying explosion not twenty feet away, barely missing the house. Oma's head flew back as she screamed with joy; her voice joined by Tante Margarite and that of myself. My cock jetted hot sticky goo into Oma's frigging fingers before she whipped her hand away to feverishly paw at her own sex; her crescendo completely overtaking her now! My seed continued to spout and spunk; jetting through the air and arcing high to splatter across the four bottoms in that bucking line, my longest jet even splatting my cousin Bettina's quaking bottom at the very far end!

Cascades of hot dew ran freely from the cunts of the four prostrate women as the grass below received a good wetting. Oma had indeed released them and now they came hard and they came LOUD, joined in by the voice of my Tante Margarite. The four women didn't need to be told what to do next. Looking over their shoulders and seeing a place to go, each at the same moment ran to the animal pen and CLIMBED. They spun themselves around on the top rail and sat... perched on an impromptu group toilet bench.

Just as in the house down in the village the same scene played out. All four faces showed the tortured strain of an enormous pressure being held back in their bowels. Sweat trickled down four foreheads while four faces wore anguished expressions. Teeth bit bottom-lips and brows wrinkled. Four nosed scrunched together whilst four bottom-holes... let go!

They were rewarded with an enormous explosion of flatulence and liquid; startled squeals of the pigs at the far end of the hog pen answering in response. The women crapped and pushed and crapped some more; jetting long blasts down into the floor of the pen from high above. Witness to the vile spectacle were Oma, Margarite, and myself; the three of us lying exhausted upon the grass.

"Look," Oma commented with satisfaction, "color is starting to return to those faces. I have seen this a hundred times. The fever has broken. Let's get them washed up, dried, and to bed. They are done with the worst of this!"

No sooner had Grandmother spoken, but the four women then eyed me in a peculiar fashion. Leaping from their poo-perch, they surged across the barnyard towards me. I scampered to my feet but they were swift and upon me in short order...coming in from all sides! Grandmother and Margarite rolled out of the way as the four women, crazed with lust pulled me to the ground in a fleshy heap of tongues, cunt's, and humping fuckery.

"It's the mushroom stew's side-effects," Grandmother commented to Tante Margarite, as the two stood over us, watching the debauchery, "turns 'em into absolutely wanton beasts in heat it does!"

She and Margarite then eyed the five of us writhing on the ground; me quite frankly trying to get away and the other four, determined to have their way with me! Oma and Margarite then looked at one another and grinned. Both touched themselves lewdly and Oma asked Margarite if she was thinking what she was thinking. My aunt nodded. They themselves then dove into the churning heap of flesh.

"Oma! Tante! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I called out,

"A GURL HAS NEEDS STEPHEN!" was their reply amidst the swarm of tongues, limbs, and humping arses!

Within an hour or so we were all upstairs, the seven of us, dead to the world. We'd been up all night, Oma, Margarite and myself; only to come home and find these four here on our doorstep. I was now completely spent and exhausted as were the others. We slept through the day, rising only to feed the animals that night and then return to the comfort of bed. We'd not stir from our resting place until morning but then we'd have turned a corner in this adventure. Now we were a naked band of seven hedonists and the magic for that seven was just beginning!