Nina Part One

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PaulUK
PaulUK
11 Followers

"What about last night, then?"

"Oh, right." He searched again, digging deep into the purse to find a tiny mangled piece of tin, worn almost as thin as a gnat's wing... a one Buggerall coin, which itself was a rare coin in the Humped-Backed Beast. He placed it on top of the gold coins, and winked conspiratorially at my mum. She winked back.

"I knew I was good," she said, "but I never knew I was that good!"

"Keep the change," smiled Tumescence. Mum dropped the coins down the front of her dress. They jingled as they fell down. The tin Buggerall fell all the way through, dropped out of my mum's skirt, and rolled away under the tables. Mum chased the errant coin as if her life depended on it.

Tumescence seemed to have recovered some of his composure. Mister Stiffun was banging his bony fist on the bar in the background, but no-one was paying much attention to him. Only once she had retrieved the errant coin, did mum lead him away from the tap room, taking him up the stairs, singing and jingling merrily. Mum believed in keeping all her customers satisfied. Particularly those with eight silver balls they hadn't spent.

Tumescence crossed the room to the fireplace. He had a strange glow about his eyes, which only rarely looked into mine, and his hands were shaking as he handed me the dress. I jiggled ever so slightly, making my boobs bounce, and Tumescence turned a terrible blue colour. Fearful lest he should have a heart attack before he had taken me to the Palace, I pulled myself into my clothing. Tumescence became a little calmer.

"Nina, you're coming with me."

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, though I was praying hard that I already knew!

"To the Palace," he replied. My heart jumped. Yes!! This was it! I wanted to thank him, but all I could think of was to ask another inane question.

"How long for?"

"Forever," he said, smiling and licking his lips more furiously than ever.

***

Now, I know what you're thinking. You think I stage-managed all that business with the fireplace and the dress, throwing myself at the wizard to save myself from a night with the undertaker. Well, you'd be half right. To be honest, I acted instinctively. It was quite normal for me to remove my clothes when I scrubbed the fireplace, to avoid getting the grate dirtier (laundry wasn't a major concern in the Humped Back Beast). I think it was also instinct that made me realise that letting Tumescence catch a glimpse of my boobs wouldn't do any harm. Although, as I have confessed, all my practical knowledge of love-making had been gained through the keyhole of my mum's bedroom door, I had discovered a few things out by myself.

I mentioned the neighbourhood boys a while back. Whenever we played Gods Go A'Frolicking, a game in which I seemed to spend a great deal of time in a state of partial undress, the boys would get that same glassy look in their eyes. And whenever we went swimming, one of the boys always wanted to do the breast stroke, even though it didn't seem to help any of us swim any better. The only other word I knew for "boobs" at that time was "Fuckin' hell!", which is what the local lads said whenever they saw them.

I had also come to realise that I had other equipment of equal importance. The local goat butcher's name was Sausage. He had a boy called Pork (an exotic name round our way), who was much the same age as me. Pork used to work in his father's shop, except when there wasn't any meat to sell. Which meant that he was free roughly eighty days in every eighty-one.

Pork and me used to play together. We played Dung Rolling, we played Knock Down Ginger ('til old Ginger stopped standing back up), we played Hunt the Cat. Then, suddenly, at exactly the same time as my boobs magically appeared, Pork wanted to play different games. Two Ferrets In A Sack was one. We both climbed into one person's clothing, and we had to fight to see who could get out first. I always won, and it never dawned on me that Pork wasn't really trying. Then he wanted to go skinny-dipping. Well, I'd always been told not to play in the river in case I got dirty, but I liked Pork so I went along with it. He seemed to think I would have more difficulty swimming now I had this chest, because he was always grabbing hold of it. Then came the day that Hunt the Cat became Hunt the Pussy, and I became really confused.

It was about ten weeks before my sixteenth birthday. Pork and I had been playing strip I Spy (in the circumstances, I realise now that asking him if "I could have a butcher's" was a little inelegant). A little later, I caught Pork sitting behind his dad's shop playing with his willy. He was kind of tugging at it and rubbing it, and I suddenly realised that there was this big difference between us. An average-sized difference, anyway. The important thing was that I realised that while I had grown up in one way, he had grown in another. And he was still growing.

"What are you doing?" I cried. Pork jumped up in alarm and the strange growth seemed to shrink very quickly as he went a kind of puce colour. Stammering wildly, he replied: "I'm playing with myself."

Well, I thought that was a bit selfish, so I said: "Can't I play?" Pork didn't seem able to make up his mind. His face went blanker than usual, and his voice offered a muted "GLLLLGLLL" sound. So, I took matters in hand. I wrapped my fingers round his willy and started jerking them back and forth in imitation of what I had just observed. It didn't seem like much of a game to me, although it did seem to make the sausage get very rigid. Pork didn't have much to say, except he was grinding his teeth and going "Aaaaaahhh!" a lot. Still, I kept at it because I was curious. How could I have not noticed it before? I had these large wobbly things on my chest, and Pork had this, this thing, which looked just like a nanny goat's udder. Why, I wondered, didn't I?

In the same place on my body, of course, I knew I had this slit, and it occurred to me that maybe I did have something like Pork's udder-thingy, but that it was tucked up inside. So, without slackening the pace on Pork's willy, I pulled myself open with my free hand to take a look. The next thing I knew, Pork yelled "AAAAAAHHHH!!!", and there were great dollops of watery stuff... like goat's milk, only runnier and not so yellow... splashing all over me, pumping out of the end of his thing. It was quite a shock, I can tell you. Even when I calmed down, I remember thinking that even if I did have one of them things tucked up inside me, it could bloody well stay there if it was just going to leak like that.

Later that night, I made the connection between what I had seen through the keyhole in mum's door and the spurting udder on Pork's belly. Mum had let men put their udders inside her. I started looking at myself in a different light. Mum had a piece of broken mirror in her room, and I would sneak up to take a look at myself. Tricky, because it only measured about two inches square, but I made the best of things.

And there I was. Not all that tall, like my mum, but long-limbed. I had quite well-built arms... that came from humping kegs of goat's milk... but my legs were long and slender. I have very dainty feet, and narrow ankles, but there was a little bit more meat on my calves and thighs. I have a fairly narrow waist, so my hips always appeared relatively full, although there wasn't an ounce of fat on them. My bum was trim, with a deep cleft. My upper torso was... of course... quite broad, and I had a delicate, long neck. What more can I tell you? My hair is black (I wore it very short back then), my eyes are very dark, and wide beneath full brows. I have very full lips. When I looked at myself, I had no way of knowing if I was pretty or not. But I wasn't unhappy about the way I looked.

My greatest asset, of course, were my large, full jugs. My skin was taut and pale, and kept the captive weight high upon my chest. The tips were full fruits, almost the size of ripe strawberries (or so I was told!), and my nipples were very easily coaxed into becoming stubby, broad stalks. The skin was smooth, pale ice, like the rest of me.

I also took a long look at the pink crevice between my legs, trying to work out just how Pork's thing might fit into mine. Pulling it open triggered a very odd sensation inside me. I inspected it closer, but I couldn't find anything that looked like Pork's thing, although there was a tiny stalk that seemed to grow a little if I rubbed it. That felt very strange too... but quite nice.

I did a lot more exploring, and a lot more rubbing, in those rare moments of calm my hectic life allowed. Something told me that Pork's belly was my future, and that there were plenty of other men besides Pork Sausage who possessed sausages of their own. This was what my mum had planned for me. This was the burden I had to share.

If you're asking me if I really knew what I was doing on that day when Tumescence paid my mum five gold Randies, I can't answer. I just knew that whatever it was that my mum expected, I would find more of it and better at the Palace. Other girls had been taken in up there... why not me? Suddenly, I wanted to leave it all behind. I knew I was running away from home; from mum, from Mister Stiffun, from the Humped Back Beast and all its wonders. But no, I didn't really know what I was doing, what I was letting myself in for. My story was only just beginning.

***

Next morning, I left the Humped Back Beast Inn with Tumescence, to enter service in the Palace of the King of Mammari. It didn't take long to pack. In fact, I just got dressed. I didn't see my poor old mum to say goodbye. With five gold Randies and a frustrated undertaker between her tits, I doubt she surfaced for days.

The Palace sat on the top of the hill on which Mammari was built. In the dawn light, its walls and central tower glowed pink. I had lived in the shadow of that tower all my life, but I had never dreamed that one day I should actually enter its doors. Now, it seemed, the dream I had never had would come true.

We walked up the steep slopes of the hillside, up the broadest part of Spittoon Street, banging our elbows on the walls of the shanty dwellings that clustered together all over this part of town. One of them fell down when Tumescence leaned against it to catch his breath. It took about an hour to make the climb up to the Palace Walls, and another hour and a half to fight our way through the crowds of beggars outside the Main Gate. When we were just about in sight of the gatehouse, Tumescence cupped his mouth and called out: "Hello, the Gate!" Three hundred and fifty beggars echoed the call, cupping their grubby hands as close to their mouths as the smell allowed, and hailing the guards.

A small window opened in the outer tower, and a woman's face appeared. She wore the plumed helmet of one of the King's Rough Riders, an elite guard unit.

"Is that you, Tumescence?"

"Yes!" he replied, followed quickly by three hundred and fifty other voices all trying to mimic his voice, and demanding that they were the King's personal wizard.

"Right!" snapped the guard, and the window snapped shut. There was an excited buzz amongst the crowd as chains rattled and bolts were drawn, and three hundred and fifty-one people surged forward, all trying to look wizard-y. I had never realised how many others shared my dream of escaping the drudgery of life in Mammari, and how few had the means to do so.

The gates opened, and the Rough Riders poured out. Twenty tall women, each built like the privy over on Gas Street, moving as one, wielding batons against the pressing mob. Heads were cracked, stomachs thumped, and they seemed to take aim quite deliberately at the male beggars' loin cloths, which proved a particularly efficient method of crowd control. The surge was halted as quickly as it started, and the beggars fled away from the flailing sticks, crawling, limping or hopping as best they could, and leaving just me, the wizard and the amazons in the plaza before the gates.

The senior guard, the woman who had appeared at the window, was about to wallop me with her baton when Tumescence stayed her hand.

"She's with me."

The Rough Rider wrinkled her nose and gave me a long, hard glare. I stared back at her in return. I had no idea what she thought she was looking at, but I was looking at something unlike anything I had ever seen before.

I think we've established by now that I was not a very worldly girl. Aye, so my mum had given up laying down wines in the cellar in favour of just lying down. Aye, so I had grown an impressive pair of boobs, legs up to my armpits and a tight little arse. Aye, so every boy down my street had seen the aforementioned tits, legs and arse more often than they had seen a decent meal. Aye, so most of the aforementioned boys had touched the aforementioned tits, legs etc, and had turned a strange colour before rushing off behind a building. All this is true.

I had wanked Pork and I had (unwittingly) come close to wanking myself. I'd worked out that sausages and slits equalled a lot of huffing and puffing on the other side of a keyhole. But I had no idea about sex.

All I had learned from all the groaning and bucking and thrusting I had witnessed through the keyhole was that men became hopelessly excited if a woman let them put their thing in her slit. But I had seen nothing, and felt nothing which had ever made me think the woman could be capable of any reaction... barring the obvious ones of boredom, a lust for money and the occasional fit of the giggles. Mum enjoyed the encounters, yes, but only the money-counting parts of it. I had no idea that sex had any purpose of its own. Quite apart from the obvious problems of avoiding getting knocked up, I'm sure you can see that I had a lot to learn. I wasn't just a virgin in the sense that I hadn't had sex, I was a virgin where it counts. In my mind.

All that was about to change, of course, and the first change came that cool spring morning, while Tumescence and I were outside the castle gate, being examined by the Captain of the Rough Riders. She looked at me, and I looked at her. And I felt this strange, runny feeling in my insides. You can imagine my confusion... no way did I connect that with sausages.

Titania... that was her name... was everything I wasn't. We were about the same age, but while I was an unworldly, bewildered girl on the threshold of a new life, she had a more mature air about her, one born of confidence in her abilities and position. She was tall, and straight-backed, her chin set firm. She stood with her hands braced on her hips and her head thrown back. She had on this tall, plumed helmet, decorated with silver and glass, and her hair, which was golden and shining, cascaded from its edge in a great spray of yellow, reaching down below her shoulders. She had on a pair of long, black leather boots, which rose from her small, arched feet to halfway up her thigh. Underneath, just visible over the tops of the boots, she had on a pair of lacy white stockings, fastened to her broad leather belt by small ribbons. She had tight-fitting gloves which reached up to her elbows.

No, I haven't neglected a single detail of her uniform. That was it. Apart from her boots, gloves, belt and helmet, Titania was bare-arsed naked. Tumescence was quivering again.

I was quivering a little myself. I stared at the Captain with my mouth wide open, and a strange knot in the pit of my stomach. The last time I'd felt that was when old man Sausage gave my mum some meat for her birthday. He brought over a bit of goat fat as well, but, strange to tell, neither ever actually appeared on a dinner plate!

Titania's nudity was playing equal havoc with my appetite. She wasn't just naked in the sense of having nothing much on. I mean, I understood naked; naked was what you got to be all the time if you played Strip I-Spy with Pork the butcher's son. But when I took off my clothes, there was still a lot of dirt and innocence insulating me from the cold outside. Titania, however, was naked. I could see nearly every inch of her smooth, dusky skin. It was a rich, bronze colour, but it seemed to go pink as we stood looking at each other.

She didn't have my weight in the chest department, but Titania wasn't unendowed. Her globes sparkled with perspiration from the jaunty exercise she had just enjoyed, and the nipples were taut, erect little buds. Her whole body glowed with sweat, in fact, from her handsome, severe face, to her pale, gleaming thighs. As she breathed, small drops slid their way down her torso, detouring around the obstacles on her top half, joining together to make little rivulets across her flat belly, then slipping slowly into the wide space between the tops of her legs. She looked quite damp there. I was feeling quite damp myself.

"Who's this then, wizard?" she sneered at last, sounding just a little throaty.

Tumescence had stood perfectly still throughout our long staring duel, seemingly trying to hold a similar contest with Titania's chest. He had that same glazed look he had worn in the tavern. His staff was almost bent in two where he was leaning on it.

"Her name is Nina," he wheezed at last. "I've just bought her. She'll serve under me in my laboratory."

"I wager she will!" laughed Titania, only she didn't seem to be amused. She slapped her baton against her booted leg. "I thought you wizards weren't supposed to like that sort of thing."

"We like it, Captain," replied Tumescence, "it just isn't very good for us."

Titania snorted her derision. "I wonder where she'll be spending the nights!" she mused. Two of the other Rough Riders chuckled knowingly. I decided to prove I wasn't coming completely unprepared. "Fear not," I told them. "I left my maidenhead back at home." The two Riders froze on the spot, jaws slack. I would have told them that I could go and get it later, if someone would ask my mum where she kept it, but Tumesence was coughing and spluttering, almost falling to his knees.

Titania recovered her poise. She took another look at me, and lifted the hem of my skirt with her baton.

"Well, whatever you have planned for her, she can't come into the Palace looking like that. She smells. She'll have to have a bath." Titania's voice was loud, and seemed to echo off the walls of the nearest hovels. "Bath, bath, bath." Strange, but the echoes all seemed to have different voices.

"Very well," sighed Tumescence. "A bath. And when she's had this bath, she can stay?"

"We'll see," snapped Titania. "Bring her inside."

She turned on her heel and marched briskly back towards the gate. I turned to Tumescence to tell him that I had had a bath barely a month ago and a rub-down with goat's milk only the night before, but he was in no fit state to listen. He was watching Titania's firm, pert back end wiggling towards the Palace, and it was making him wheeze and slide closer to the ground as he lost his grip on his staff.

I helped him stand up, and we lurched forward. I had the strangest feeling that my holding him up was actually making things worse, but I hauled him towards the gate anyway. Once Titania was out of sight inside, Tumescence seemed to recover somewhat, and he hobbled inside on his own. Close at his heel, I entered the Palace for the first time.

***

In Mammari, only buildings of consequence were built much taller than the average dwarf with a stoop. The palace gatehouse, on the other hand, was a heavily fortified, two-storey building, dropped foursquare across the path of anyone who wanted to enter the court of King Harrdon. It housed the barracks of the two guard regiments... the all-female Rough Riders and their male equivalents, the Mustgerhers. As I passed under its shadow, I shivered, though whether from fear or excitement I can hardly remember.

PaulUK
PaulUK
11 Followers