Yrba's Travels Pt. 02

Pt.2 — Under Soiled Doves' Wings

by

Paul Gerard (a pen name)

Part 2 of a 12-part tale, laced heavily with lesbian encounters and strange transformations.

A word of warning, before you even start reading: A lot of what happens in this story focuses on the rather weird fetish of Breast Expansion (BE) -- from A to D, and occasionally up to and ultimately beyond the size depicted in Woody Allen's "Giant Breast" skit in "Everything you always wanted to know about sex" (the 1972 movie). If you thought that was hilarious, or unsettlingly arousing, you're more than welcome to continue reading. Of course this tale has action, tension and fighting (in short, "conventional" storytelling), too.

However, if you are put off by the sheer offbeat weird impossible flight of fancy that is BE, you probably shouldn't bother with this tale.

Thank you.

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.

The time of this story is similar to the 12th century of planet Earth.

What happened so far:

Part 1 — Jailbreak:

Jailed in neighboring cells, two very different women are waiting for their execution: Yrba, the traveling gypsy witch, and Mirca, the servant girl. In a last desperate bid for freedom, Yrba feeds Mirca a whole gallon of enhancement potion and uses her swelling body to break down their cell's walls. And thanks to Yrba's prowess with magic, Mirca becomes mobile again. While they sneak through the nightly town, Mirca gets even with the man whose wrongful accusations sent her to death row by wrecking his warehouse with her rapidly growing breasts.

Part 2: Soiled Doves' Wings

"Wild like the wind

a gypsy with a grin

from an old far-away country ... "

― Cat Stevens, Sweet Scarlet

This part's proofreading kindly supplied by Kanodin

Chapter 7: Asking For Old Favors And New Mishaps

The pale moon was just about to set. Morning approached.

"Where are we going? This is not the way to the gate!" complained the tall, hulking blonde as she trailed a light-footed shadow through the nightly town. Clutching her breasts to curb the unwonted and unwanted swaying and bobbing of the taut, almost solid orbs wrapped in a straining makeshift bustier, she stumbled after a figure in fluttering red and black rags.

"Yes, because the gate's guarded, and I'm sure they've already noticed the commotion at the castle. We're going to visit an old friend of mine. Over there."

The dark-skinned witch didn't turn her head as she replied. She kept her eyes firmly on the street ahead. No hint of light, not even a single candle shone from the windows of the houses they passed.

She stopped for a moment, pressed up against a wall, and peeked around a corner into a small square. Empty. She picked up her pace again and headed for the two-story building on the opposite side. The half-timbered house stood with its back to the little river running through the town, and all the other buildings seemed to try and keep their distance, as if they wanted nothing to do with it. It stood out in more than one regard. For one, it seemed rather new compared to its neighbors, and while the area hosted mainly stables and warehouses, the building they headed for was a residence. And it wasted precious ground inside the town's wall with a garden in its back and a high hedge around it.

Mirca turned the corner, recognized the place and gasped. Her footfall slowed down.

"There?! That's an unclean house! Do you know what those women do for a living? It's disgusting!" rang her voice across the square while she pointed accusingly at the building.

Yrba gnashed her teeth and pulled up her shoulders as the echoes of Mirca's outburst danced through the dark, empty streets.

"Be quiet and hurry!" she hissed. "I'm not asking you to work there." She quickly turned around, grabbed Mirca's wrist and pulled her along.

"Dammit, I'm coming! I'm coming! No need to knock down the door!" barked the disheveled redhead in the flimsy bodice with the low neckline while she put the candleholder on the shelf by the doorframe. She didn't reach for the handle to open the backdoor yet. Straightening herself instead, she fluffed her hair and dragged some of her mane to the front.

She mumbled a chain of strange words, took a deep breath and held it in. Her left hand cupped the soft volume of her left breast's ample balcony while the splayed fingers of her right hand slowly slid upwards over her midriff.

Prickling followed her finger's path and spread like goose bumps over her mammary. The flesh in her grip swelled up and spread her fingers apart. Her breast bloated and rose over the rim of her corset. Her knees grew weak from the onslaught of delight, and she stumbled against the wall. A lecherous groan dripped from her mouth, and finally she exhaled in a staccato of hisses.

Swapping hands and boobs, she panted fiercely and repeated the procedure. Again, her already impressive breast bubbled larger in her hand until it matched the heavy shape of its sister to the left. Now her garb's neckline fought a valiant battle with the swollen, melon-sized protrusions, and moist heat raged in her groin.

A quick two-handed grab and squeeze, another murmur, and the soft underside of her malleable boobs grew resilient and, together with the groaning cloth's constraint, propelled her breasts' mass up into a pair of pearly-white half-spheres. Framed by her fiery curls, they bulged from her corset in almost inhuman size.

She knew that this sight alone was enough to seal most of her deals with her clients. Never one to leave anything to chance, she also put on her most seductive smile ― all the easier now with her cleft violently demanding relief by meaty impaling ― and sucked in her slight belly. Lifting her right arm behind her head and tilting her hip, she leaned against the wall. A quick lick over the lips to add a little wet gloss, and then she finally deemed herself ready. The knocking on the door repeated, faster and more urgent.

Between her legs, the embers of her hearth now blazed so violently, she half expected to see the floor light up in red glow as she put her feet slightly apart.

"Oh boy," she muttered under her breath, narrowed her just a tad slanted eyelids and furrowed her slightly triangular brow that together with her pointy nose gave her the air of a vaguely exotic fox, "whoever you are, you better have the stamina in your pants to make all this effort worthwhile!"

Her hand pulled back the door's bolt, her features relaxed into a wide, friendly smile and she began her often-repeated greeting with the sultriest voice she could manage at four in the morning:

"Welcome to Madame Red's cozy house of bathing and ― ack! Kkkk! Gwaa―!"

She choked, gasped for air and started to cough, because right in front of her now watering eyes hung, no, floated a bosom with a deep cleavage that dwarfed her own. The brazen display of womanhood was barely tamed by a piece of cloth. The breasts' shapes of rounded, foot-long, protruding cones were crowned by hard nipples that strained against the colorful wrapper. Red's blinking eyes followed the mesmerizing motions of the erect boobs as they swayed resiliently under their owner's agitated breathing. The face of the girl ― giantess, she corrected herself ― was out of Red's view. The behemoth's broad shoulders, covered in long, almost white-golden hair that cascaded in waves over them, marked the upper edge of the low doorframe. "Oh my goodness," the bawd stuttered after catching her breath and wiping her eyes. Even with the girl still standing in front of the sill, those incredible mammaries already hung through the door frame into the house. Red raised a trembling hand to her lips and stammered, "We're not hiring these days, but I sure could make an exception for someone like y―"

"Don't bother, she's not one for hire. Hi, Red," replied a familiar voice from behind the wall of breasts, a voice the bawd had not heard in quite some time.

"Yrba?! What the ―"

The witch squeezed past Mirca into the corridor. A broad smile spread her mouth at the sight of Red's straining neckline.

"Oops, my little gift has acted up, eh?" she grinned, and then she added, "Don't worry, I can fix that. Let's make them comfy again," as she quickly raised her index finger to her mouth, licked it and playfully rubbed it deep into Red's augmented cleavage. The over-bloated breasts on the bawd deflated in an instant and sagged down into her bustier like two huge, wobbling bags full of milk. Red gasped at the sudden change of tension in her flesh and the meandering waves of delight that followed.

"See?" grinned Yrba. "Back to normal. Bad girl! You're already blessed with much more than enough. No need to blind innocent people with these flesh orbs."

"Dammit, Yrba! I hate it when you do that!" Red frowned, kneading and prodding the quivering bags of her breasts back into the cups of her bustier. A grin wandered over her face. "Come here, you mean old bride of the devil, you!"

She embraced the witch heartily and kissed her while her fingers wandered over Yrba's waist and rear. And then Red frowned again.

"You've lost weight!" she exclaimed. "Shit, so it was you sitting in the castle's dungeon? What are you doing in my town at all? I wasn't expecting you until fall!"

"Hell, I wasn't expecting myself to run from the gallows tonight! We need a place to hide, Red. Sorry for bursting in like that, but the guards will search the houses one by one, and soon. Mirca, don't dawdle. Come on in! Those women don't bite." They lick and nibble instead, she added silently and suppressed a chuckle.

The huge blonde crouched through the door frame. Inside, she straightened up again. Red quickly closed the door, turned and raised the candle up to Mirca's face. The girl blinked and turned her head away from the flame ever so slightly.

Red smacked her lips. "Six and a half feet, I'd say. And I'm not going to guess on your weight, darling, but I surely wouldn't want to end up under you, with all that juicy muscle you got. My, and such a beautiful face. That hair, those eyes ― say, don't I know you?"

Mirca blushed.

"Me, um ― I'm the ― the lumberjack girl from the palace, y'know, um ― the one the guards always used to send to ― to call the wh― the, uh, those women to the castle," she stuttered.

"Of course! Now I remember you! Must've been a few years since, and damn, you've grown! In all directions, from what I can see. Yrba, did you have a hand in this? ― Oh my, you're still blushing, just like the old days! Come on, a big girl like you?" Red playfully prodded Mirca with her elbow. At least she tried. She might as well have tried to playfully prod a boulder.

Red's smile broadened and spread all over her face. "Now you're a sturdy one, aren't you? Let me tell you ―"

Yrba cut her short. "Later, Red! They're already coming after us! Shush and listen!"

Outside, heavy footfalls approached from the far end of the street. With barely a moment's hesitation, the bawd quietly ushered them up the stairs to the first floor of the brothel, but stopped them at the first turn of the stairs.

"Quick, in here," whispered Red, striking her fist against one of the wooden boards that decorated the walls. It slid aside, and a small hatch of two by two feet yawned at them. It led to a dark, hidden space in between the ceiling of the rooms below and the planks of the floors above. Vague contours of sacks and small barrels filled the hideout. The stale air smelled of moonshine.

"Sly bitch!" Yrba grinned. "I owe you."

Red adjusted ostensively her bosom and neckline. "Not as much as I owe you, Ybbie, all right? Come on, in you go. Hurry up! From the sound of it, they're at my door any moment now. Push harder and get her ass in there! We can chat later!" And, whispering under her breath, she added, "If we're still alive then, that is."

They had to struggle hard to squeeze Mirca through the hatch. More of her dress ripped, caught on the rough wood of the door frame. Grunting and panting, the tall blonde wormed her way along the floor. She barely managed to turn over to her side and ended up with her muscle-padded shoulders caught against ceiling and floor.

"I can't breathe!" she whined.

"Hush! The guards are almost here. If they hear you, they'll spike us like piglets with their spears, right through the boards we're laying on. So shut. The. Fuck. Up!" Yrba hissed as she crawled up to her. Red pushed close the hatch behind them. The concealing panel slipped back in place with a scraping sound.

Trapped in the quickly warming darkness of the secret entresol, Yrba and Mirca listened to the footfalls of heavy boots and to the muffled, angry voices of the guards as they dragged the tired girls from their beds one by one. Quite a few times, someone ran up or down the stairs, passing the hidden hatch. Things finally calmed down above them, and the sounds of an angry debate below rose up through the planks that the witch and the blonde were resting on.

A little light came through tiny air holes along the walls. Outside, dawn was breaking. As her eyes got used to the darkness, Yrba could make out Mirca's curled-up shape and wide, fearful eyes.

"Ybbie―?" whispered the blonde, her hushed voice trembling.

"Shht! Quiet! And it's Yrba, thank you very much! What's the matter? Oh will you suck in your belly, it'll stop that rumble in your stomach!" replied the witch, eavesdropping with one ear pressed firmly to the floor.

"That's not my belly! It's my ― uh, I ― I think they're getting bigger again! You know, the band you tied around them, it ripped when you pushed me in h―"

Yrba raised her head, blinked and strained her eyes before she replied: "No, they don't. You're just imagining things. I don't see any magic flowing around. Don't wor―"

Creak. Rrrrip. Snap. Guuurrgle.

On Mirca's poor and abused dress, one of the shoulder bands gave way and slipped down, right in front of Yrba's eyes. The witch's face turned gray like ash. "No ― oh no! Mirca! What are you doing?! And ― how?! You'll blow up the house and crush us all!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.

"I know! I'm so afraid! Do something, Ybbie―Yrba! Please! Tie them up again with your magic!" whimpered Mirca. Her breathing quickened. "It's ... mmmh ... it's feeling ― different. Something inside me ... ooh ... stretching ..." The swelling breasts shook and quivered on her heaving ribs as their form slowly kept on changing. The middle parts of the resilient, bulging horns rose and rounded. The whole mass swelled, shudder by little distending shudder, into melon-sized bags. Mirca tried to bring her hands forward. The wood of both floor and ceiling against her shoulders creaked audibly.

Yrba's hands snapped forward and closed around Mirca's wrists. She leaned in, whispering: "Don't move! Make no noises!"

"Growing―help me―," gasped the blonde.

"I can't! I can't move my arms the right way either, it's too tight in here! No way I can conjure a binding web! You've got to hold them in check, by yourself."

"But I don't know how!"

"Me neither! And there's no magic at work far as I can see."

Yrba stared in fear at the blonde's makeshift bustier in front of her, heard the creaking and ripping noises and saw the old and weak cloth slowly rend under the strain. Sweat-covered, bare skin and part of an areola showed through the shreds. The heavy, throbbing bags grew slowly towards her.

Mirca raised here eyebrows imploringly. "But you hexed them on me! Oh please, you've got to ― They're itching! Yrba! They're getting hot! Help me!"

"Wait, they're hot? So that's why ― that's not really growth then, that's more of a milk bloat."

"Milk? Out of me?! But I never ever ― nnngh ― oh gods, they're getting full! So full! I ― how ― why?"

"Beats me. No idea." Yrba frowned and gnawed on her lower lip while she ran her fingertips over Mirca's advancing breasts. The skin felt silky, vaguely taut and delightfully warm, and beneath it, hundreds of bulbous glands shivered and trembled as they squirted their produce into the spongy ducts of the blonde's breasts and made the udders stretch and swell.

The witch gulped. "Damn, that's a lot of milk you've got coming." Though I couldn't tell you where from... that's too big and too fast, it can't be natural ...

As if to prove her words, the aroused, throbbing nipples doubled in size and wormed right through the unraveling cloth of the straining dress. They began to spray warm milk in thin but unrelenting jets, scattering in all directions. Mirca exhaled ― "Ahhhhh..." ― in both growing arousal and deep relief as her inner pressure vented. A puddle formed quickly on the floor boards as the streaming intensified. Yrba stared at the expanding pool of milk on the rough planks and wiped her wetted face. Drops rained from the spots where the white spurts met the ceiling. The puddle on the floor foamed and bubbled everywhere one of the many thin jets hit.

"Oh shit. It's going to drip through the cracks. The guards will notice," she muttered and tried to soak up as much as she could with the tatters of Mirca's cloth. It was a vain effort. The girl's glands' raw secretions overwhelmed the frail textile's absorbency within a couple of heartbeats.

Yrba narrowed her eyes, pondering her options. With a sigh, her mouth dry from fear, she bent forward, pushed Mirca's ample flesh bags together and stretched her lips around both thumb-sized teats at once, trying to keep up with the combined flow from the pair of bloated udders. The image of those very same nipples exploding forward and punching straight through several solid walls was still fresh in her mind. Putting them between her lips was like licking the tip of the bolt on a crossbow with a brittle safety catch.

Moments later, she had no chance to think of anything but guzzling and swallowing. Her cheeks bulged as soon as she stopped gulping down the milk to take a quick breath through her nose, and afterwards she had to struggle to empty her mouth faster than it filled. Lying on her side, she gnawed at the rough nipples while her hands fought with her dress to free her belly. Magic was no help now, not for her own, immune body. She just hoped her stomach would be able to stow away the flow from Mirca's eager milk glands until the guards finally left the house again.

Good thing I've not eaten anything for a week. But, Mirca, oh please, dry up, stop, and soon!

Yrba groaned quietly through her nose, her mouth so full with milk it dripped from her lips. She cast a quick glance to her feeder's face. Mirca had her eyes closed and her half-opened, limp lips showed how much she reveled in the relief of her overripe breasts' first gentle discharge. The witch didn't begrudge her creature that delight. Mirca's very first milking hadn't been exactly gentle, and the second one still had been a stretch. But those considerations were secondary to Yrba's more pressing worries. She swallowed hard and forced another mouthful of milk down her throat.

I mustn't let any spill over. If they find us, they kill us on the spot. And if they don't find us, you'll drown me in milk soon. Milk! I stay away from that stuff, for a reason. Why does it have to be ―, she closed her eyes as another gulp streamed over her tongue, ―mmmh, delicious, warm, sweet milk. Oh heavens, that girl! I'm almost full! But I can't stop! What's she doing to me?!