Yrba's Travels Pt. 12

"What did you wish for?"

"Wish for—? Hurrrrgh!" The girl cramped up again. "I didn't know I could wish for—gnnnnh! Rrrrgghh!"

Yrba pulled a thin scroll from the shelf by her side and pushed the piece of wood, wrapped in parchment, sideways into the girl's wide open mouth.

"Bite down on this and keep quiet. Dammit! I told you to keep on milking yourself! Stroke, stroke, stroke! Up, down, up, down! Well, if you live through whatever you'll birth now, then you better start wishing for things small!" "Gnuh—Gnah—Nnngh!—Nrrrrnnghh!"

Yrba's fingertips traced the edge of the distended labia and slipped through the copious slime that squeezed out along the rim of the plugged, almost circular hole. Whatever took form in there, it was round. And hard. And big.

"Girl, what the fuck kind of fruits do you like?"

"Gnnnnn—! Wnnh—wnnghter—m—mlnnnns..."

"Watermelons?!"

The witch coated her hand in the ooze slowly seeping from the straining hole and smeared the glistening lube around the young woman's crotch.

"Hurrrrn—"

Groooooaaann.

The outer labia's thick rim of flesh throbbed bigger in Yrba's grip. She gulped. Cornucopia started to change the lass' body to its liking, and the spell hadn't even reached its full strength yet. There wasn't much time left.

"Nnnnggghh—"

Gnnnnooouurrrbbb.

Now Yrba's brown fingers barely covered the expanding funnel. From the swollen strawberry of the girl's clit that rose up, being pulled along with the bloating womb, to the lowest folds just above the ass' tiny, tight rosette, the length of the young woman's labia measured more than two hands' width now. The pink opening grew shallow as the girl's flesh was forced outward by the thing inside her that demanded more and more space. Her cervix, still closed tight, poked out and started to widen.

"Naaaaahhhhgg—"

The witch stared at the dark green dome that pushed against the reluctant rim. In plain view, the young woman's vulva had grown to thrice its size. And it still wasn't big enough for what was about to burst out.

The girl convulsed. The wood in her bite creaked, and she arched her back. Her fingers closed tight around her teats, squeezing out a long, high spurt before the milk stopped in her cramped-up grip. The bulge in her belly wandered lower, stretching the skin of her labia wide and transparently thin. Her crack opened up wider and wider, turning into a foot-wide circle of overtaxed, glistening skin.

Crrreeeeaaaaak—

"Ngh—ngh—ngh—Hurrrrnnnggh—!"

—Sglorsh.

Thud.

"Ahhhhhh..."

Yrba rolled the huge, green, ooze-covered fruit aside. The young woman's womb and crotch had collapsed, only to immediately throb bigger again. "Oh please," moaned the sweat-covered girl, rubbing her expanding midriff. "Next time I'll rip apart! Help me! Stop it!"

The witch shook her head. "I can't! I can't stop it. It'll keep going for at least a quarter of an hour. Can't do a thing about it. Keep milking!"

"There must be something—heavens! I'm — It's — in me — filling up — again! Oh ple—he—he—heeeaaase—"

Yrba grabbed the crying girl's trembling shoulders.

"Quick! Keep on thinking about smaller things! Cherries. Grapes. Bananas. Even a cucumber's a much better idea!"

"Nnngh." The young woman closed her eyes. "Banan—oooaaah! Mmmh! Hwww—mmmh!"

Her labia domed again, only to quickly part as something yellow, glistening with lube, poked out and curved upwards as it slipped easily through her dripping canal.

Shhlurrp. Plop.

Her hips started bucking, and her face changed and lightened up. The contortions of pain faded into a sweaty, wide-lipped grin. Her hands on the spouting, slippery teats worked furiously now. White jets pulsed yard-high into the air and splattered down all around.

"Bbbaahh—ooooh!"

Splurgh. Plop.

"Yeeeeees—"

Gluuurg—splosh. Plop.

"—oh yeeeees!"

Yrba wiped cold sweat from her own brow. The witch patted the girl's wet cheeks and rose.

"You keep your mind on fruits like that, and you'll be all right. Mind if I steal a snack?"

"M—hmmm," groaned the maid happily. Yrba looked at the throbbing womb that pushed out piece upon piece of ripe, long fruits, and at the girl's milky mountains, still partially wrapped up tight like pumpkins in a soaked bag. She quickly bent down, put her hands gently around the girl's fingers to stop her frantic pumping and bit down on the strawberry-sized tip of the bulging teat. Yrba's lips engulfed the hot, slippery pole of meat. Moments later, her mouth overflowed with fat, sweet milk. She changed her grip, digging her splayed fingers into the taut sphere that fed the bovine spout. The witch drew long, greedy gulps of the nurturing gift from the udder-sized ball that dwarfed the pair of her hands.

By the time the other girls came by with their baskets, Yrba had already locked the door to the hidden chamber. From the inside.

And by the time the happy lass, squirming in delight on the cold floor, could speak words other than just chains of vowels, Yrba had already left the palace.

~

Not bad for a conjured snack.

The witch stuffed the slippery, empty peel of the yellow fruit into one of her skirt's pocket and licked her lips. Keeping half an ear on the hushed commotion outside that soon wandered off into the distance, she inspected the small laboratory. The tiny room had a shelf stacked with maps, a large table littered with glassware and a single, flickering oil lamp.

Yrba thumbed through the old scrolls until she found the drawings she had been searching for in the library. The palace's fountains were fed by an ancient net of tunnels, based on the lava flows of old. The extinct volcano's crater served as funnel and cistern. Her finger tapped on the round line that showed its place. Someone had only recently marked it with a crude circle.

~

Chapter 65: Boobwalled

~

Yrba rolled up the map and stashed it back into its place when she noticed a small, cloth-bound book on the bench. It was but a plain notebook with pages of cheap parchment paper, the kind of book a wealthy trader might use to jot down order lists or deliveries. Somehow, that little thing seemed out of place, and that was why she grabbed it and wiped off the months of dust that had collected on the cover. She flipped through the pages.

It was a diary of sorts, filled with long rows of numbers, many of them struck through, until she reached the last pages and written lines replaced the cryptic numbers. She stared at the list of laconic entries, and her anger rose with each line and page.

Solid gold! Pretty, dumb, BIG already.

Day 2. Commenced fattening. Responds well to guidance.

Day 12. Interfering nuisance removed.

Day 15. Absorb. M. Formula successf.

Day 30. Massive growth spurt. Likely useful. Trigger?

Day 33. What an outburst! Note: Avoid any irritation, too unstable.

Day 113. Nuis. ret.

Day 178. Trans. compr., move to burst place successf.

"Nuis. ret. — Nuisance returned?" hissed Yrba. "Burst place?!"

She looked around in the small room. No lockers, nothing except for some tools of the arcane arts. Yrba saw the faint, unearthly glowing wake of something that put up a resistance to the flow of magic. She stepped closer and furrowed her brow. In a bucket by the workbench lay a heap of cracked, round shapes. They might have been rings once, or tiny cylinders. Now they were but smashed fragments.

Her fingers ran over the white material. She jerked back when the sparks of pent-up magic bit into her fingertips. Sucking on her tingling fingers, she frowned for a moment before her eyes suddenly widened.

A wizard's strength is in his bones. She gasped. Heavens!

Someone had taken this old proverb at face value, and had done so successfully. Judging from their size, she was looking at rings sawn from a hollowed-out femur.

That's how a non-immune can grab magic! But who? It could be anybody! she pondered. Carwon? He's putting on an act all the time. Yolanda? She's obviously been a heavy user of my Tincture even before I arrived. Maybe she's decided to do a little witching by the side. Has she ever forgiven Mirca for the episode with the nipple? Who else might've hoped for the goddess' throne?

When did this meddling start? From the get-go, obviously. Did we run into a set trap? Are they all in on it? Hardly, I guess. But then — who could hope to gain from all this?

Yrba lowered her head and pinched the root of her nose.

Hell, it could be just about anyone in this accursed palace!

She gazed around. Nothing in the little chamber hinted at who was scheming here.

No point in searching long and hard for an answer here. Just find Mirca, bring her down to size even if the pain makes her cry bloody murder, and off into the sunset! I need my thigh bones for myself!

As she turned, her foot kicked a small, ornamental clasp. She picked it up and looked at it. She had seen it before. Her head jerked up.

You! You're so going down!

~

Yrba ventured on up the corridor, brimming with anger at Carwon.

Two-timing double-crossing rotten bastard!

The dark tunnel ended at a stone doorway. Yrba peeked into the tall and narrow chasm behind it and finally looked up. Faint reddish light came from up high where the smooth, alabaster surfaces of the walls met. Wooden struttings secured the three yards' width of the natural hallway that reached up for some forty yards before the walls touched again, and a rope bridge with wooden planks spanned the twenty yards leading down from the tunnel's mouth to a mound of sand and rocks, crowned with a round, blanket-covered marble pedestal. On the pedestal rested a figure of which Yrba only saw the head, but in an instant she recognized the long cascade of golden-white hair that flowed like a waterfall over the edge of the marble slab.

"Mirca!" exclaimed the witch and broke into a run. Her feets thumped across the bridge's planks, and the ropes creaked and groaned.

Yrba stepped from the swaying catwalk onto the sandy floor in front of the altar and stopped in shock once realization set in.

Mirca's shape was beyond grotesque. The first thing that a visitor registered as he approached across the bridge was that he walked up to a normal, albeit rather tall and muscular blonde resting on her back on the elevated pedestal. The next things were the two walls of white that moved in towards her, forming a cleft in which she was stuck. And the next next thing, which almost broke the mind, was to recognize the walls for her breasts and that the visitor had already walked right through and under them for the last few moments. Her bosoms, mountains of quivering flesh and pulsating glands and steaming milk, had grown far beyond comprehension and filled the crater from its bottom to the rim like a pair of huge corks. The whole chamber, with its walls of faintly glowing, smooth skin spanning between the creaking stilts and struttings, had been excavated inside her cleavage by propping up and spreading apart the warm, smooth flesh of her breasts.

Yrba gulped. Whatever she had expected, she hadn't expected this.

"Heavens!" she stammered, her fingers trembling against her slack jaw. "Mirca! How are you doing?"

The blonde turned her head and managed to spot Yrba from the corner of her eyes. She giggled, "Hey, look! It's Yrba! Hi, Yrba! You mind if I don't rise? I'm a bit top heavy. How are you doing?"

"Me? Me?! Mirca, what's the matter with you? You weren't that stupid when I first met you!"

"Oooh, so old meanie Ybbie is back. Yap-yap-yap."

Tentatively, the witch ran her fingertips over the funnels of taut skin that rooted in Mirca's chest and stretched out to form the mind-numbing, colossal blobs of boob flesh all around.

"Mirca, focus. How. Are. You?"

"Meh, I'm okay, I guess." She giggled again. "It's only the nipples, they've become so taut, they're aching a bit. Mnnngh! Oooh! It really feels soo good when the breeze tickles over my skin! Oh, if only I could tell you how I keep on coming and gushing if it rains on them! It's, like, awesome! Oh, I can't wait to see where my darling will take this eggs—puh—ree—ment."

"Experiment. Mirca, you never complained?! He's torturing you!"

"Torture? Oh no! You've got no idea how — mmmmh! — how awesome this feels! And, just listen to this!"

She slapped her hands into the expanding funnels that stretched from her chest. The whole cave filled with the deep, sonorous rumbling of a giant drum that drowned Mirca's raunchy exhale, triggered by the quivers wandering through her mountainous boobs.

"Hear that? I've taught the maids a little of your dancing, and now when they dance for me, I'm my own beer cushions in strumming!"

"Per-cus-sion in-stru-ment," the witch corrected automatically, grinding her teeth.

"And we're just playing around after all. It's so much fun! He's so ingenious with these things! I'm so happy, helping him! He comes up with a funny new potion for me to try each day! I've eaten so much, I can feed the shire for ages with all that pent-up milk! And see! I'm still a strong girl!" Mirca flexed her arms.

Yrba shook her head in disbelief. Rrrright. Talking to Mirca. Pick a lower mental gear or drown in exclamation marks. — Heavens, with those bicepses, she could lift horses.

"Well, dear, then let's go and ask him what he wants to do today," the witch said in the friendliest voice she could manage, what with being an intruder on forbidden grounds and about to whisk away the most prized possession of a power-crazed vizier.

"Silly witch!" the blonde giggled. "Do I look like I can move?"

Yrba cracked her knuckles.

"Oh, I'll help you with that, young lady. Oh yes. Oh yes."

The witch completed the weaving motions of her arms and cast the magical web around the white hills of Mirca's breasts. The invisible fibers sang in her hands.

Goodness gracious, I've never tried to rein in a mass this big. The milk will blow out of her nipples like a dozen whales' fountains. I'd pay to see that!

She pulled and felt a sudden resistance she hadn't expected.

Mirca screamed at the top of her lungs. Her body arched and convulsed. She flailed her arms in pain as her breasts bulged through the gaps in the unyielding ethereal mesh. The fibers cut deep into the breasts. After a few seconds, Yrba could no longer stand seeing her friend consumed by agony. She let go, dropped to her knees and clutched her face in her hands.

"Oh heavens, Mirca, forgive me. It doesn't work. I'm so sorry!"

The blonde sobbed and wailed. "Mean witch! Go away! Carwon never hurt me at all! You only came to hurt me, like the last time! Guards! Guards! Seize her and throw her out of the palace!"

Yrba spun around. Her entrance had been some sort of back door. On the opposite side, almost a dozen of bigger, two-winged doors lined up. They were still closed, but footfall approached rapidly.

"Shush! Mirca, I'm not ready to give up yet! I don't know why the milk didn't spurt—"

"Stupid crone!" barked the swollen giantess. "Of course we had to clog the nipples! How else could I store all the milk for the great ceremony?! If you had asked me, I could've told you that before you hurt me! You never ask me! GUARDS!"

"All right, I'm going to — oh, just wait here! I'll take care of the rest, Mirca."

Yrba ran towards the row of doors and kicked open the one labeled "Stairs". Inside, a spiral staircase led upwards.

~

The reflections of daylight on the wall illuminated the last few turns of the seemingly endless flight of stairs. Yrba panted heavily and forced her legs' burning muscles into the final climb. So far, the only light along the winding steps had been a faint, milky shine that filtered through small, boob-covered slits in the wall. She blinked as she finally stumbled against the cold black stone of the door frame, and lifted a hand to shield her eyes against the blinding blast of daylight. A gale howled across the snow-covered top of the mountain, and Yrba squinted in the bright sunshine reflected by a vast expanse of white that filled half of her eyesight.

Her toes had barely touched the ground when she jerked back and clutched the door frame tightly. The floor had moved. And it was no snow. What her soles had stepped on was soft and warm and yielding like mattress. At her feet stretched a skin so taut that its pearly white glow hurt Yrba's eyes. Spanning the several hundred yards of the crater, with only a single cleft along the middle where the black stone tower of the staircase poked through, the surface of Mirca's bloated pair of breasts created a gentle dome with a twin summit. Instead of nipples, Yrba saw two wooden boxes marking the apexes, their lower edges cushioned with a ring of rolled-up blankets against the doming, hill-like areolae. Each of the small sheds had heavy chains wrapped around it.

Yrba knelt down and ran her hands over the soft, velvety surface. Narrowing her eyes and switching to her special sight, the mountains of flesh became foggy like two huge drops of watered-down milk. Her gaze reached a few yards deep into the boobs. Their volume was alive with veins of pulsating magic, flowing along the ducts and feeding the bulbous milk glands. The witch gulped. All over the unimaginable amount of Mirca's flesh, the grape-like clusters of milk wells magically conjured up gallons upon gallons of liquid that streamed into the ever-expanding blimps with every passing second, and yet their unrelenting growth was barely noticeable.

Yrba leaned backwards and put one foot forward, slowly resting her weight on it. She sank in to her ankles until the spongy resistance carried her body. Balancing with her arms and leaning into the howling wind, Yrba walked out into the shuddering and swaying white fields of her friend's boobs. The skin groaned and squeaked under her soles, and she didn't dare to think what might happen if she were to accidentally pierce the straining surface. As she inched step by step over the sensitive skin, Yrba heard Mirca's giggle and laughter at the tickle of the witch's feet, the giantess' voice from below being dampened and carried at the same time through her boobs.

Despite the cold and the constant gale, sweat ran down Yrba's face by the time she finished her uphill climb over the left one of the twin peaks of Mount Mirca. Setting her feet firmly against one of the melon-sized nubs on the light brown areola, she reached for the padlock on the chain around the shed.

~

After a few minutes of tinkering, the chain fell down, bounced and snaked across the skin and disappeared from the witch's view as it slid along the curved surface. Yrba held her breath while her eyes followed the jingling metal before she turned around and pulled the door of the shed open.

She recoiled from what she saw, and almost lost her footing.

"Bastard!" she muttered and stared at Mirca's coarse, man-sized nipple that was covered top to botton in a thick layer of wax. The hardened substance clogged each and every duct she could make out. Not a single drop came through.