Siren Song Ch. 02

Siren Song, Part 2 — Growing Out

Four parts, an epilogue and a bonus story. At least that's the plan. No promises, though.

Still no need to go looking for the mermaid in this part either.

~

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.

~

First Draft started 2008-06-17, this one 2012-05-26

Spellchecked: by computer.

Proof-reading: A very heartfelt thank you to Merkava IV and CoffeePilot for their time and patience.

~

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.

This story unfolds in medieval times, around the 12th Century. 1185, if you're one for nitpicking.

~

Part 2: Growing Out

Obscure inspirational music reference:

"Every time I dream it's just a little bit stronger than real life" — Meat Loaf, Good Girls go to Heaven

~

Once upon a time ...

The year is 1185, the world is Altaerna, and the place is somewhere in the temperate climate where people are mostly pale and mostly stubborn.

A winter ago, a lithe and lissom young woman saved a handsome young fisherman from drowning. The fisherman's would-be fiance, headstrong cold-hearted not-so-young Menena, the town's mayor and wealthy shop owner, didn't take it lightly when her trusted maid Barbara and her well-equipped secret boy toy David fell for each other hard and fast despite being unable to join in carnal pleasures (on account of Barbara's nethers being a thimble and David being ... rather more than that).

Consumed by jealousy, Menena saw to it that David was banned from the town, with Menena maligning him whenever she could. Barbara was given the boot but still found a little lenience in Menena's eyes for the years of service, so the lithe blonde was allowed to spend market days in the side streets where she's now trying to sell for a living the fishes that David catches with his tiny boat and his worn nets. The outcast couple of twenty-somethings got secretly married and made it through their first year, living a life of privation in a tiny hut atop the cliffs, hours from the town.

Part 1:

Spring has returned. Going for a swim while waiting for her husband's return, Barbara hits upon a drifting net chock-full of fish while her other half David makes but a single lucky catch out at sea. Reunited, the young couple retreats into their favorite hideaway to have another go at their most pressing problem, their inability to consume their marriage properly. Still unable to succeed, they resort to each other's dexterity like the many times before.

As Barbara prepares lunch gutting the fish David brought, she discovers a valuable pendant in its belly. Putting it on, she — is woken by her husband, hours later. Not only has she developed quite the appetite for the unfamiliar fishes that the new net seems to attract, she also suddenly succeeds in devouring herculean meat (wink, wink). When David sets out to a bigger and more distant town in an effort to sell more of his catches, Barbara ends up doing a little self-exploration on a moonlit night. She also ends up with quite some more Barbara before the night is through. After a day spent in fear and despair, and lucky for her self-conscious mind, a) most of it has disappeared again by the time Dave returns, and b) David doesn't mind the surplus left on her at all.

As the next market day comes around, Barbara squeezes into her now ill-fitting old clothes and is about to go on a quest for answers about what has befallen her, and her first stop will be the town's healer and midwife. Alas, the market isn't over yet ...

~

Chapter 7: No Second Opinion

~

"Dun—de—dun—dun, dun—dun—de—da," Barbara hummed quietly. Her toned legs laid crossed on one of the handles of her cart, and she swayed her upper foot to the beat in her head. So there's something to be said for a bit more padding in the rear, Barbara admitted to herself as she wiggled her firm buttocks on her now much more comfortable seat. Her eyes followed the lazy drunken dance of a butterfly while she wound a strand of her long golden hair around her slender forefinger. With the cool wall against her back and the warm rays on her body, the hour where the sun made it down into the narrow side street was her favorite time. She tugged absentmindedly on a crease of strain in her worn gown's fabric as she counted the display of her fishes for the umpteenth time. No sale, no change. The laid-out catch was fresh and their sizes excellent, but she knew she couldn't hope for more than a sale or two, and those only on the sly and out of pity. Not after she'd learned from the blacksmith about how Menena, her former mistress, most successful mayor and shopkeeper and the biggest moneylender of the whole area, leaned on those seen at her tiny cart.

"Wench!" bellowed a deep voice.

She jerked around and gasped for air. The face of the brick wall sized town guard was hidden in the shadows of his hat's brim. He stood so close as to almost fall over her cart. Barbara's hands started to tremble. This is it. They'll run me out of town. Oh the gods, I never did nothing wrong, how —

"— Much is the fish?" reached her disbelieving ears.

"Beg y'pardon?" she managed, struggling upright only to bow respectfully.

He took off his hat and twisted in his big, rough hands. "Sorry t'startle ya, didn't mean to. How much is the fish?"

"Two coppers apiece," Barbara replied. "Hah! Heh!" A liberating giggle, mixed with relieved panting, forced its way up her constricted throat. The jiggling and trembling that spread all over her chest's new volume in her laughter's wake still felt strange to her, and she twisted her body halfway to the side and pressed her flat hand on the window of her neckline. The guard raised a warning finger and tilted his head.

"Don't be doing that, Miss, lest oy'll hafft' arrest ya fer obstruction of the watch's view!" His posture and smile made it blatantly obvious that he was joking though.

After he left with one of the bigger catches, Barbara opened her hand. Eight copper pieces shone dully on her palm.

"Fair enough for the fright," she smiled, about to sit down and lean back again. "Dun—dun—da—de—"

"Miss?"

She recognized the voice before she even turned around. "Andrew! Little Andrew from Redwood farm, right?" Barbara raised her head and had to admit, there was nothing little about the freckled, red-headed guy any more. "My, you've grown! It's been what, four years? How did you —"

The strapping young man shrugged. "First day in town for months. Saw the guard, was just curious. You selling?" he added, pointing at the cart.

"Uh, yes, of course," Barbara stuttered. "Sorry, it's just — oh come on!" Another guy walked past the side street, only to hesitate and return moments later. Barbara began to smile. Robert Blacksmith, I really owe you. Seems you've got in a good word for me after all.

~

The bell announced the end of the market. Barbara took stock. Two thirds of her display was gone, and her pouch had gained a healthy amount of much-needed volume. She knocked on the wooden door of the house behind her.

"What?" barked an unfriendly voice.

"Uh — Misses Weaver, could you keep an eye on my cart, I need to — to pay someone a visit. Err, to make a delivery. I'll be back soon—," begged Barbara, only to add under her breath, "—ish."

Old Miss Weaver opened the door a couple of inches and took a short peek outside, narrowing her aged eyes until the blurred shapes took on recognizable forms.

"Ah, it's you. Yes, yes. Not a problem. That'll be one copper extra." The wrinkly old woman cocked her head, then she raised her eyebrows and nodded towards the cart. "Very wise, bringing only half your usual catch. What's the point in dragging it here and back again, eh?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, right." Dammit. Almost opened my mouth too wide there, Barbara realized. Drop the wrong hint, she's going to demand a share of my sales.

~

Barbara sat patiently in the gloom of the antechamber. Leta Mawson was busy, always busy; even at the ripe old age of seventy, her duties left little time for idle chat. The grandmotherly, rotund woman was midwife to most of the villagers and healer to them all.

"Barbara? Is that you? Haven't seen you in a while, and — whoa Nelly, little fish bone helped herself to a comfy pair of milkers!"

She recognized the squeaky voice and wished she didn't. Barbara smiled nevertheless as she raised her head and greeted.

"Sandy! What are you doing here?"

The moon-faced, freckled, stocky girl of twenty years twisted her body. Her copper curls were tied back to a ponytail and swung wildly as she turned on the spot and sent her skirt flying. When she stopped her spinning, her bulging chest and fertile hips kept the apron busy for quite a while longer. She raised her lower arms in a half-circle and slanted her hips.

"Tah—da! I'm Leta's new appurentice! She's teachin' me everythin' an' stuff! And I'll become the new healer! Oh, I knew you'd show up sooner or later, what with your little hole being ripped wide open by that brute's horse cock! That's gotta hurt for weeks. Eh, oy've got an ointment for that. Leta always says, if'n ya use it luiberalley, ya could breed a mouse with'n a bull."

Barbara blushed from her chest up to the roots of her hair. "Guh — what?" she managed, casting nervous looks around.

Sandy waved her hand dismissively. "Naah, no need t' be coy about it aroun' here, ain't nothin' us healers haven't seen before, is what Leta's been sayin' all the time."

Morbid curiosity rose its head in the back of Barbara's brain, and against her better judgement, she heard herself ask, "What have you seen before?"

Sandy at least had the decency to lean in and whisper.

"Weeeeell, ya see, out on the farms, sumtimes a widow gets a little lonely, an' them huge beasties start t'look so vuirile an' inviting —"

"Sandy," Barbara interrupted with her most calming, sugar-coated voice, "I don't want to hear anything about anyone. I'd just like to have a little talk with Leta, alone, if you'd be so kind. And there's nothing wrong with my little hole, thank you very much."

The apprentice nurse wouldn't get subtlety if Berta Blacksmith pounded it into her head with a sledgehammer. She plopped herself down on the bench by Barbara's side.

"Ah, Leta's busy. Lucky you, I've got nothing to do but t' keep ya company. So, what's with you and Big Dong Dave?"

"Big Dong Dave? That's my husband you're talking about!"

Sandy giggled. "No way! You married the Cock? After what he did to you?"

"What he — " Barbara's eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched into fists. "What's that supposed to mean?! Sandy. I am going to say this just once. David is the perfect husband, and before, he was the perfect sweetheart, and that is that! Think for a moment before you open your lips again."

— Or I'm going to lodge my fist so deep into your mouth, it's going to be my fingers doing the thinking for you, she finished mutely, and regretted the violent surge the very next moment. Silence spread in the antechamber. Barbara mistook it for the kind born of sulkiness.

"I'm sorry, Sandy. I didn't mean to — "

Sandy raised a finger and stopped her. "Still thinking," she added after a few more seconds.

Just as Barbara inhaled for a reply, Sandy turned to her and put her hands on her hips.

"That's so odd, Dave being so kind to you! Y'know, Menena said she'd thrown him out because he always wanted to get inside her, but he's too thick and long for ordinary women, that brute!"

"Menena said?!" Oh that nasty crone! That nasty, lying, mean crone! First she —

"So, is he really — y'know, big? How do you manage? Do you like it, or is it a chore? Say, are you, like, cow-sized wide?"

Sandy's impeccable timing crushed Barbara's rising anger and buried it under a load of rocks made from sheer embarrassment and bewilderment.

"No!" escaped Barbara's lips. "I — I mean, no, I'm not cow-sized!"

"An' why not? Y'know, you're supposed to stretch iff'n you do it long and hard enough. It's not all that bad, makes the birthin' a whole lot easier, an' us healers like that!"

"Gods, Sandy! Have you no slice of modesty in you?" stammered Barbara.

"Nah, when pickin' day came about an' all us of age got our apprentice...boat? Ship! Appurenticeship! An' I was the last one standin' there, then Leta looked everywhere about me an' said I'm so hollow, there's lots of room for all her knowledge in me! But she didn't get to tellin' me about no modasty yet. Sorry."

"Grumble."

"Whut?"

"I said Leta always had a fine eye for people," Barbara sighed.

~

"Next—!" barked Leta Mawson's commanding rough voice. Barbara involuntarily jumped to her feet. Her hand trembled a little as she brushed aside the blanket that separated the waiting room from the main one.

"So the lost orphan girl finally finds her way to me," Leta smiled softly as she turned away from the tall shelves that lined most of the walls. "What's the matter, my dear? You of all people wouldn't show if it wasn't something serious."

Barbara blushed profoundly and bit her lips.

"This — I'm — things keep happening!" She hesitated for a moment, then she slapped her hands before her face and started sobbing. "I — how — it's so hard to tell! Please, don't laugh at me!"

The midwife put her arm around Barbara's heaving shoulders.

"Shhhh, poor girl. Leta's here. Leta understands everything."

~

"You can put your clothes back on, Barbara. You should, in fact. Oh dear, oh dear. I'm seventy-one now, and I should be beyond these things, but you, you almost managed to turn this stupid old hag green with envy." Leta shook her head and smiled.

"Honest to the gods, you had me worrying about you for some time, child. Nice lass you are now, but scrawny like you were when I last saw you, you wouldn't have lasted a dry stretch. Much better to see you with some meat on your bones, and all in the best places." The old woman winked, then she leaned in. "Word to the wise, dear: sit down with needle and thread, and make yer garb a bit more," she gesticulated awkwardly with cupped hands and her palms facing the ceiling, making little juggling motions, "— err, comfortable, lest ya pop a seam at an inappropriayte time. Seems it was sown when someone didn't ever expect to learn the meaning of handfuls. And your ripe apples are quite the pair of handfuls, darling."

Barbara blushed and closed the last few hooks and loops on her gown, working her way up from her narrow waist. The first hand's width was easy, but then —

"Gnnngh!"

Scrrrish.

Leta raised her eyebrows and lowered her head in the age-old gesture of told you. Barbara sighed. She pocketed the torn loop and opted for provisionally tying up the gap across her cleavage with a zig-zagging cord. The spread was almost three inches at the widest place. Only at her collarbones did the cloth shut again the way it was supposed to. Beneath them, right at nipples' height, any pair of prying eyes had the nicest window into the collision zone of her breasts.

"I will widen the seams, soon as I get home!" Barbara nodded, then she canted her head and drew up her shoulders questioningly. "So — so it's good? I mean, my — my breasts, becoming so full and heavy, and all that milk — I'm twenty, isn't that supposed to happen way earlier? Look at Sandy, she's been, like —" Barbara's hands painted something better than twice her own curviness in the air, "— like that years before me. And these days where I'm not myself and I wail about nothing, only to snarl at Dave the very next moment —"

Leta brushed away Barbara's fearful question with a wave of her hand.

"Full and heavy? With you being Menena's former maid, I'd say you know better than to call yourself full and heavy straight-faced! So you came into bloom a bit later, that's bound to happen to someone. The later it comes, the longer it lasts, eh? No, dear, nothing's wrong with you at all. Nice and firm in front and rear, don't you dare to speak ill of your own body. Oh, and the bloat and the anger, the trial of womenfolk through the ages! Who of us hasn't had these moods, darling? It comes and goes with the moon, girl, and it's never as bad as it seems in our minds. Don't you worry, it's what all of us women feel."

"We do?" Barbara exhaled. "That's a relief."

~

The long late afternoon walk from the village to her isolated hut never seemed as short to Barbara as today. The weight of several boulders had been lifted from her shoulders, and she danced even though the swaying and bobbing it caused in her marvelous handfuls reminded her of bouncing boulders still.

~

Barbara sneaked down the footpath to Dave's little pier. Her naked soles made no sound on the warm sand, and the soft wind moved her dress, but not enough to give her away with a flutter or a rustle. As she stalked her favorite prey, she ate him up with her eyes and congratulated herself to the hunk of a catch she'd made. Every now and then a gust moved his shoulder-long hair far enough out of the way to grant her a peek at his chiseled jaw.

David had shed his tunic and stood with nothing but his loincloth by the thin poles that held up his frail fishnet, sewing up the holes. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the aching shoulder blades, and Barbara stifled a hungry growl. The well-defined, sweaty muscles on his bronzed triangular back glistened in the setting sun. Dave raised his heels, reaching for a torn thread higher up. The sinews on the back of his knees framed the onset of his contracting calves.

Need him, now! Barbara's fingers bent greedily. She leaned forward and pounced. His body stiffened under her impact as she wrapped her arms around his chest and felt up his hard midriff.

"Good news!" laughed Barbara, clinging to her startled husband from behind. Her fingers moved independently and homed in on his loincloth, searching for the tying knot. "Guess what? It's what happens to all girls when they become real women!"

"What?" frowned Dave. Reluctantly, she let go of him and took a step backwards. He turned to face her, and her gorgeous sight immediately smoothed the wrinkles on his forehead.

Barbara canted her hips and put her arms akimbo, proudly thrusting out her ample chest. Her clothes groaned a warning.

Come and get them, cup and knead them, chirped her thoughts.

"I talked to old Leta Mawson about me growing and the bad moods and stuff, and she said it's something all of us women go through, but we just don't talk about it." She rolled her shoulders and smiled seductively. "So now your bride is finally all the woman you'll ever need."