Midsommarfest

Dazzled, the four sank to the grass and began to couple. Torfi's full cock plumbed a hot and slick crevice. Dalla inhaled sharply as she felt a thick and probing fullness invade her own wetness to its very bottom.

They stroked and squeezed Dalla and Torfi's new lush forms. Teasing Dalla's roseate nipples with a squeeze and a nibble, lightly fingering the sensitive tightening skin of the plump sack of plums between Torfi's legs, the old ones stirred their partners to a wet and gasping fervor. Over it all the song of the dale rose and swept thought away as the moaning consummation built.

In this languid liquid friction Torfi and Dalla lost themselves for what seemed hours. Their wet and urgent cries rose as counterpoint to the power of the enchanted music. With each thrust and clamp of muscle, each lubricious shuddering partial retreat and push again, the four rose higher in the splendor of their senses.

The pounding rhythm rose to a crescendo of beats, sending them into spasms as bulging breasts wobbled with the thrusts. Dalla felt a flow pulse into her over and over as the old one came and came and came again.

Each spurt heightened her pleasure. Her eyes rolled back and she did not at first see her belly start to rise. Larger it grew as she matched each thrust and jolt of fluid from the old one with her own shuddering clamp of her legs. As she felt her womb begin to fill, Dalla looked as her flat belly rounded and swelled, in seconds making her look ready to give birth.

Torfi found himself coming in the same way. Something beyond him seemed to guide his motions as he thrust and thrust again, pouring his essence into the other's inflating womb. His swollen testicles pumped what seemed to be an ever replenished flow of spunk into his partner's belly as his face froze in a rictus of pleasure. Indeed, for some long while, his flow seemed to increase, becoming nearly constant as her tummy inflated. Eventually it ebbed, became more ragged and with a last gigantic pulse, it ended.

The women's bellies bulged enormously as Torfi and the male old one slumped to the side completed. For some minutes, Dalla and the woman gasped in time with the music as pleasure surged along with their still growing wombs.

Each now looked titanically pregnant and as their skin tightened at last. High off the ground, they began to feel an orgasmic swollen pressure and raised the knees already shoved wide by their burgeoning bellies. They screamed as one, not in agony, but triumphant ecstasy as births came. The humming song of the dale faded leaving the men limply on the sward groaning with the echoes of their pleasure and the women making little mewling noises of contentment.

The two singers gathered the babes that had emerged from this congress and held them high as if offering them to the moon. The infants made no noises of distress as human babes do when sent thus rudely into the world, but seemed instead to have a ready acceptance of their state. Their eyes observed all with a watchful awareness unfound in ordinary infants. The old ones placed their prenaturally calm offspring on two of the plinths and then returned to the middle of the rite.

Torfi and Dalla gathered themselves and took stock. Dalla felt no pain. Indeed, her belly was flat again, just retaining that slight new enchanted curve that made her navel into a jewel.

The two old ones who had joined with Torfi and Dalla rose and stood across from the others. The other female seemed, Like Dalla, unchanged from the magical fertility. They raised their arms and they began to hum and croon that same song of the Dale as the magic rose again.

Torfi felt his member swell again, rise to attention and become rock hard. He trembled. His scrotum tightened and his spent balls seemed to inflate and fill even larger than before. Dalla's cleft became a dewy then sopping ache that demanded filling. Her breath caught.

They moved to embrace the old ones who had guided the first stage of the spell and now joined them in the second. Again the perfumed breath and musky scent of the eldritch creatures dazzled the senses of the two humans. They dropped to the lawn and began to buck and thrust with their partners.

This time, the music turned primal sooner. Under the driving tune came the noises of fierce friction, wet slapping skin moved suddenly together. Tits trembled as cocks went deep. Kisses muffled the cries of potent joy marking each thrust that brought Torfi, Dalla, and the old ones to grunting groaning heights of delight.

Rivulets of rapture shot up and down the lengths of their bodies, playing percussively on their nervous systems. Each squeeze and clutch of gasping excitement made their lust soar. Rhythmic blissful peaks of pleasure made Dalla's nipples ache and shoot rigidly forth from her tight and pebbled aureoles. Torfi felt his cock grow hot and thicker than he had ever dreamed of being, buried in the female's fiery pussy and held tightly in its sopping embrace.

The Midsommar song beckoned them all toward a swift completion. Torfi felt the root of his member bunch and constrict and suddenly he was spewing forth a river of creamy fluid. His partner's stomach immediately puffed outward and she shrieked at the sudden influx as Torfi ground himself downward, sealing his groin to hers and shudderingly shooting cum from his aching and now peach sized swollen balls as her womb pulsed fuller, mushrooming to a vast fecundity.

Dalla too gasped with widened eyes as her belly lifted and pushed nearly as high as one of the plinths. She was so overset with the building sensation of climax that she could not even breathe. Her hard nipples and tight breasts constricted further and her sex filled and filled again with the male's magical effluence.

Torfi and Dalla's partner slumped again as their part waned and their spent parts subsided. For a second time, the music coaxed long rapturous minutes of further growth from the enormously impregnated ladies crying out not in pain but exultation. Their taut bulges rippled with contractions and they roared in blissful euphoric completion as the enchanted act of procreation conjured new beings.

As the music became more ragged and ebbed, the two old ones that had been standing moved to retrieve the newborn. The babes made no sound. As before, they were laid on the pillars to wait. The four inhuman figures stood and faced Torfi and Dalla lolling tiredly on the cushiony turf. The perfectly figured others joined hands, bowed gravely and then went each to one of the carved rocks, there picking up a babe.

Fireflies gathered again, this time in silence, again they swirled and the coruscating light built to a warm unwatchably intense brightness. When it faded the plinths were empty. Beyond, the ring of flowers, the wall of mist began to subside.

Though still night, Torfi and Dalla could see the white moon was much further across the sky. They looked at each other in wonder as the emboldened cricket conversation came once more into prominence around the glade and a breeze brought a flowery perfume from the ring.

"Art afeered lass," he asked.

Dalla shook her head no and wonderingly laid her head on Torfi's bare and muscular chest. Her now scarlet curls trailed down his abdomen and tickled lower.

"I have no words for what has happened," she said. "Look at us. We are changed out of all countenance."

Torfi smiled. "Ay," he said. And hae' we both not only gi'en thanks for Midsommar, but been gi'en a great blessin'? Oy feel nae pain and can walk again. I ken, also, ye ae bonnie and hale yersel'."

And he bent and kissed her mouth gently.

Despite the rutting sex the two had just completed in that magical rite, Torfi and Dalla felt each other stirring. They found themselves, starting tenderly and hesitant, quite unlike the prior frenzy.

Each soft stroke and tickle, each nip and caress built to a mutual bliss. They moved easily together. Perhaps the old ones had left them a magic all their own, of unity and knowing each what the other might find most pleasing, a finger here withal, a quick thrust there, a grab and squeeze and stroke that made their own human music a sensory symphony all their own.

For a third time that night, Torfi spent himself. Dalla felt him shoot inside her and her own climax hit as she clamped her luscious legs tightly around his now back. They hugged and thrust lifted their locked mouths from the others lips as they came. A third cry filled the meadow, startling birds that had begun to stir, this time one of triumph, completion, and simple human joy in joining.

Dawn came. Torfi and Dalla nestled together and then rose, unchilled, for the night had been warm. They retrieved their hastily shed clothes and made shift to rip them just enough to fit their new forms.

As they made their way outside the circle of flowers, the plinths looked somehow older and less potent in the post Midsommar dawn. They took the flute, but left the cart and crutch.

After looking dubiously up the steep slope down which they had careened only hours ago, Torfi and Dalla worked their way around the skirt of the mountain picking through underbrush and trees, to where the path to the reaches descended into the valley.

Eyebrows rose and questions came fast and often as the villagers saw their changed states. They didn't tell the whole tale, saying only they had slept, awakened changed and bewildered and left from "somewhere" now that the morning light let them scramble up a rocky slope till they found a pathway home.

No they cannot say where they were and they were in such a "daze" they are sure they could never find it again. After the wonder faded, the elders discouraged questions whether they might be filled now with an evil influence.

"No," the council said, "Torfi and Dalla clearly have not changed their ways. They are the same people as before, just more able. Have done with your wagging, now!"

And life went on in Arnor's Dale, though Torfi and Dalla kept company together and she moved to the house behind Torfi's workshop.

It is perhaps notable, though strangely never noticed, that Torfi and Dalla always come to the Midsommar festival early; him to play and her to dance with the best.

Later they slip away, not to home with the village elders, but somewhere else, where they play and dance again each year, in secret thanks, their song of the Dale.

And do they do more? Why, ask the old ones! If you can find them.