Yrba's Travels Pt. 01

"Whu... what does «eh-muhn say vent» mean?"

Yrba rolled her eyes. "Rrrright. Don't trouble that sweet head of yours then, darling. Come up to the bars, and I'll tell you how we're going to break free from this dungeon."

Feeling curious as much as nervous, Mirca moved closer. The witch admired her athletic body again and sighed.

"Right, here's the rub. You'll need to drink my juice. We haven't got much time, so don't just kiss the cup and lick a few drops. I want you to down all of it, understood?" Yrba lifted her skirts over her round, sloshing belly and pushed her hip forward. She moaned. "Hurry, or it'll start to drip out by itself. I'm a week overdue! Here, I'll put it as close as I can—"

She grabbed a vertical bar in each hand, put her feet on the horizontal bar that ran across at hip's height and half-hung from, half-squatted on the iron, her legs in a wide split and her thighs pushing against the bars to bring her crotch forward as much as possible.

"Come, dear. Put your face to the rods and pull a little on my nether lips, and you'll be able to drink from me like from a water bag. I know you can do this."

"No! That's icky!" Mirca protested, crossed her arms, hung her head and turned her back on the gypsy. Talking over her shoulder, she complained, "You're just like Suzy from the cleaners. First she was just looking funny at me all the time, and then—then... and then why would I want to do this, again?"

Yrba sighed. "You want to get out of this cell? Then do as I say."

"Yes, that's right what she said! Only she said—," her voice changed into a squeaky, mocking falsetto, her head wobbled left and right as she continued, " 'You want to move up and be a chambermaid, oaf? Then kneel down and lick this.' And then she lifted her skirt like you did, and I did as she told me—eeeugh! And then she got all wiggly and sweaty and she grabbed my head hard and pushed it into her crotch."

Mirca took a deep breath and, gesticulating wildly, continued with her complaint.

"And I could hardly breathe, and she kept on screaming to the gods and how she was going to die, only she wasn't, not really. And then after she caught her breath again, she said I'd have to do that with her each night. Can you believe that? I—I think she even had fun." Mirca shuddered with revulsion. "That's so yucky. She always tastes fishy. And you're weird when you talk just like her. No. No, I don't trust you."

"Good! You shouldn't! Remember, you trusted your lord, and he threw you in here to be hanged at dawn."

"I... I deserve it," she muttered as her shoulders suddenly fell. "I've been bad. I didn't obey."

The witch stared at her with a gleam of anger in her eyes. "What?! O-bey?! Some guy wrongs you, probably says you've bewitched him because he can't get over your body being harder than his dick, and your daft lord has nothing better to do than sending a faithful servant to the gallows on a whim? Tell me you don't think that's right."

"No, but—"

"And stop with the 'no, but'! Heel! Down! Lick me! Now! And make it worthwhile!"

Years of being pressed into obedience got the better of the woman. She knelt down and brought her face to within a finger's length of the witch's hairy crotch and pursed her lips. She sniffed and shuddered.

"You reek!" she dared to complain.

Yrba rolled her eyes. "Girl, I've been sitting in this dungeon for a week. Myself, I'd prefer right now to first soak in a rose-scented lukewarm soap bath for hours, then rub myself down with oil, then rub you down with oil, and then have you drink from me while I bury my face in your enormous clam. Get over it, and start sucking."

"You're very elastickily," the blonde mumbled as she tugged with her strong fingers at Yrba's pubic hair and wrinkly inner folds to lay bare the opening.

"The word's 'elastic'. Yes, I've put that snatch to good use over the years. I—"

She chocked on her own words and panted, fighting for air as her body convulsed. Her hands on the bars trembled and clenched. She felt... filled to the very bottom of her pit, and then some.

"Wheeaa... what is that?" she managed after a while, after her world stopped whirling and shaking.

Something long and rough and wriggling slipped halfway out of her sopping snatch.

"Thoo thaid tho mwage ith mworthmwhile. Thuthy mwikes ith bethth thike thath."

"Come again?"

"Thoo—"

"Wait, wait. Let go first."

The rest of the freak tentacle left her. Another shiver ran up her spine. She could feel, not the brewing magic potion, but her very earthly wetness drip from her nether lips.

"You said to make it worthwhile. Suzy likes it best like that. It's not my fault. It's not—you said you—," muttered the frightened servant.

Yrba breathed heavily and climbed off the bars, her knees still shaking. "Up, girl. Open your mouth. Let me look at that." She blinked fast and ran her hands over her face until the mist in front of her eyes disappeared.

She gazed up at Mirca, pulling at the woman's jaw as if she was inspecting a horse, and gasped when she finally saw what she had only suspected.

"Wow. That's... rare. You've got a tongue like a cow. Hell, you could make cows envious."

"Thou're meam," Mirca mumbled, with her tongue caught and pulled out between Yrba's thumb and forefinger. The witch marveled at the wet muscle that extended almost two fingers long.

Yrba smiled, let go and caressed the blonde's cheek. "Mean? I meant that as quite the compliment, dear. It's not an insult. And it's also a description of what it looks like. No wonder this Suzy girl went crazy for you. Being impaled on such a huge, agile, wonderful tool can do that."

Her voice trembled just a little. She took another deep breath to calm her nerves.

"Right, let's do that again. And I don't want you to use that (shudder) gorgeous tongue. Not now. Save that for later. Right now, just put your lips to my crotch, suck away and drink all that you can draw out of me."

Chapter 3: Fattening The Gretel

She hung herself to the bars again, and Mirca brought her face back into position. This time, she reached through the bars as well, and grabbed the gypsy's ass cheeks to bring the gaping cavity even closer.

A thin trickle of greenish, faintly glowing slime showed in the depths of the witch's vagina. The pungent smell made Mirca wrinkle her nose and curl her lips.

"No, I... I can't do that again. Please..."

"Sorry, girl. We mustn't delay any more."

Yrba let go of the bars. She fell backwards, quickly reached with her hands through the bars and grabbed the sinewy back of Mirca's neck, forcing the blonde's face forward against the bars until it met with her crotch arriving from the opposite direction. Her arms were stretched straight now; her full weight pulled on them; her arched body hung almost perpendicular to the bars—all that meant the combined leverage on the back of Mirca's head was far too strong for the blonde to resist. Her mouth smacked into the moist vulva. A quick wiggle from the witch's hip, and the wide labia slipped over the blonde's jaw with a squelching sound until they almost covered her cheeks that were pressed against the cold bars. Yrba writhed again and felt herself opening up inside. Her juices first dripped, then gushed against Mirca's lips, who held her mouth shut tight in disgust. Still, little by little, a trickle seeped through as the pressure grew. It tasted like herbs mixed with beer gone sour.

Mirca panicked, panting through her nose into the witch's curly bush. She flailed her arms, trying to get a grip on the bars, to push away. The pressure in the pent-up potion in her mouth rose and rose; it made her cheeks bulge as it filled her up. She couldn't tear away, though not for a lack of trying. Yrba's arms simply were stronger than hers, at least after the day of tormenting the girl had already suffered through. The more Mirca flailed mindlessly, the less she was able to get any leverage at all. The witch clenched her teeth and continued to tense her inner muscles, forcing some more of the liquid into the blonde's mouth. Mirca finally gave in and started to swallow, if only to stop the vile stuff from rising into her nose.

"Ah, there's a good girl. High time to fatten this Gretel. Now quit struggling, this is for your own good," she heard Yrba's voice, muffled by the arms that grabbed her head and half-covered her ears.

Gulp after gulp went down her throat. She felt her belly bulge along with the shrinking of the witch's womb. It took a mere half of a minute before the rancid well dried up and her head was released from the grip. To her, it seemed like an eternity.

Gasping for air, she tumbled down against the bars and fell forward on all fours. Her stomach gurgled and ached; she couldn't and wouldn't fight the rising bile and immediately began to heave.

Just as Mirca started to retch, the witch reached with one hand through the bars and grabbed her throat, squeezing it tight.

"Oh no, that's not going to happen!" she hissed while her other hand quickly drew a chain of sigils into the air.

The blonde clawed at the hand and arm, but to no avail. Her eyes almost popped from their sockets, and her freak tongue hung from her mouth while she spasmed, torn between the choking grip and the convulsions in her innards. Her stomach regurgitated the liquid in painful heaves and emptied it fast into ... where?

The hand let go of her throat and caught her shoulder before Mirca could fall down.

"There, there. Here, wipe your mouth." Yrba handed her a handkerchief she had pulled from the sleeve of her dress. "You've almost made it."

Mirca gulped and breathed heavily, sat back and wrapped her arms around her aching belly. With closed, tear-filled eyes, she wailed: "Almost? You're mean! That was horrible! Why—"

Her eyes snapped open. She gasped.

"—holy heavens!"

Her hands blindly fingered her belly, only to find it in its well-defined, muscle-ribbed shape as before. But when next she reached up for her face to wipe the wet layer of smelly ooze off, she found she couldn't do that. At least not like she used to, because along the old route her hands bumped into a soft, fleshy resistance. She stared down, and her mouth fell open.

"Boobies! I've... you've... " she stuttered.

The upper part of her drab housemaid uniform was utterly destroyed, torn apart from the inside by new volume that had puffed up. Bands of cloth, ripped along her circumference, were all that was left. A few of them made valiant efforts to retain the overflowing amount of flesh that resembled two soft half-melons. When she bumped her hands into the protruding amount again and sent the flesh quivering, more of the strands tore and snapped. For the first time ever, she had to reach around her bosom to touch her face. She rubbed her eyes and still couldn't believe it.

Yrba smiled. "Don't you like them? That's what my witchcraft can do. That's how I earn my living, selling my infamous potion to the envious Mesdames of the town."

"I don't know. They seem so... so big. Why would I want them? They'll just get in the way! And my clothes will fit even less! No, you take them back. They're weird."

"Mirca, dear, would you lift one of them so I can take a better look?"

Yrba put on a mysterious smile that broadened when the blonde reached for her new assets. Just you wait, girl. Ah, I love it when they do that for the first time.

Mirca grabbed her left breast up with both hands and almost passed out when the strange new sensation hit her. The soft, yielding mass quivered and shook, as did her grip. She couldn't resist and just had to squeeze harder, and the skin bulged out between her wide-spread fingers, the areola popped out, a half-orb, and the teat contracted and hardened. Between her legs, a tickle started.

"Uh. Uuuh. That feels... whoa! Strange. But good-strange. Not bad-strange at all."

She kneaded some more and then switched over to the right breast. "That's fun. So that's what they're for? And they're all mine? They won't go away? I can keep them?"

"As much of them as you want."

Yrba looked at her and just had to smile. Was I ever like that? Just sitting contentedly somewhere, lost in the joy of a new toy? She sighed. For a moment, she forgot about what she'd next have to do to the poor girl.

"Right. Here's my deal for you. You get to keep them, but I—"

Mirca barely listened. She held one of her hooters in each hand and bounced the lush orbs into each other, again and again, smiling madly. Her new abundance bobbed and shook, and the ripples sent little jolts of joy through her body.

"Yes, yes, all right! Whatever you want! Would you just look at that?" she giggled. "They're going, like, boing boing boing! And it's — whao!" She shuddered all over and began juggling the quivering bags, thrusting them a few inches into the air and letting them drop back down into her cupped hands.

"—get to use them first to spring us from this prison," the witch finished. "Girl, did you listen? You said 'yes'. Did you mean it? The magic's listening to us. Are you willing?"

"Huh? Yes, sure, sure. What you said." Mirca finally looked up. Her stare was half-puzzled, half-worried, and almost all-absent. "Uh, what e-suck-e-dilly?"

"Exactly's the word. I'll make this easy on you. As far as I can. First you need to relax a bit."

Yrba cracked her knuckles and flexed her fingers before she drew a complicated gesture in the air. Mumbling "Excitare passionatus", she held her flat hands together and ran the tip of her tongue over the crack between her forefingers.

Mirca exhaled through her wide-open mouth as she felt her crotch catch fire. Grinning like a fool, her eyes closed, she rolled onto her back. Another lick from Yrba, and the tall blonde twisted and turned on the floor, one hand groping her breasts, the other moving south and rubbing the itching outer folds of her crotch. She moaned blissfully.

Sex had never meant much to her before, to the "freak," the "oaf" that nobody wanted to "do" anyway. She knew a thing or two about how it supposedly worked—she'd been raised on a farm that had animals, after all—but it had never occurred to her that it could be fun. So much fun. Suzy's escapades had been a strictly one-sided affair and had left Mirca with nothing but a bad taste in her mouth for hours. Right now, she caught up on all the things she had been missing, and they came in one huge package. The faint, omnipresent magic in the air condensed around her as a pale, rainbow-colored smoke; it hovered over her in wisps of fog, and from there, little sparks arced into her body. The discharges were drawn to her new breasts; they titillated her nipples relentlessly and made her flesh quiver. Whenever they hit her groping hand, her fingers spasmed and dug into her soft skin. Her other hand rubbed at her snatch. Soon, foam seeped through her fingers and drenched her curly pubes, and smacking, squishy noises filled the room. Her arousal reached heights she had never felt before.

She needed to slow down and catch her breath again. Mirca lifted her moist fingers from her sopping hole. A thin filament of her juices dripped from her glistening forefinger. The sparks ran up and down the lengthening shape and turned the lather into a glowing web of shiny drops.

No matter how much she wanted to take her time in exploring the new sensations, the magic gave her no chance to take it slow. With her hand out of her crotch and out of the way, the sparkles around her beaver grew all the more intense. They formed a St. Elmo's fire creeping into each and every nook and cranny, and made her matted blonde pubic hair shine like silver. The same eerie glow started around her areolae, and the tendrils of light filled her bosom with an unearthly itching. She squeezed and kneaded her breasts. In between her ragged breathing, she moaned at Yrba:

"Wrong...! Feels... hot... ," then she almost screamed as another series of dwarf lighting bolts seared over her skin, "— Feels taut!"

The fog suddenly changed shape. It swirled around her, forming two whirling funnels aimed right at her nipples. Within seconds, all of the supernatural energy had disappeared into her breasts as if sucked in by force. A few flickering strands of light kept dancing along the veins showing vaguely through her skin and then were gone.

Mirca gasped for more air and cupped her new main attributes. Their soft, doughy flesh spilled through her fingers' strong grip, but slowly they grew more resilient; the sensation of growing tautness sent thrills through her body.

"Mmmhh. Was— was that supposed to happen?"

Yrba smiled enigmatically, and then she said, "You've not even seen the first of it." She lifted her fists and then slowly spread her fingers. "Mammae expandere" were her next, mumbled words.

"Expa—what? Uh— aiiiee!"

The fingers Mirca had wrapped around her breasts suddenly were forced apart. She stared down on her bosom and frantically groped at it, trying to keep the unruly flesh down. Every time her fingers grabbed anew, there was more heavy volume in those mounds on her chest.

"They're growing! No! That can't be—I don't want—," she whispered, staring at the pulsing and pumping veins. The upper parts of her boobs throbbed and swelled closer to her face. The weight in her hands kept on multiplying. Her wailing grew louder, yet Yrba showed no sign of stopping her gestures and mumbled commands.

"Oh gods! Quit that! I didn't think it would—mercy!" She let go of her right breast and extended a pleading hand to the bars and the dark silhouette of the witch behind them. Without support, the bag of swelling flesh dangled down, now pulsing longer and longer instead of rounder, its shape straining under its own weight. The skin grew painfully taut while the front with the pointy nipple grew down over her hip. She hurried to cup it again and just barely managed to catch it before the pliant volume distended out of her finger's reach.

Her other breast now too grew over her grip. She wrestled with her soft flesh, struggling to bring her lower arms beneath the expanding sacks, to grab the bulging areolae and close her fingers around the thumb-sized nipples, just to keep the sloshing mass from spilling out of her grasp. With her arms propping them up into a globular shape, her tumid boobs were now pumpkin sized. Prize pumpkin sized. And growing.

"Too big! Too... too heavy! Can't hold them..." she groaned through clenched teeth. Her knees, used to heavy lifting but now quickly overwhelmed, started to shake uncontrollably.

"Go to the middle of the cell and get down on all fours, girl!" Yrba commanded. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. They'll get really, really big soon, and you'll not be able to keep them in the air." I'm surprised you're still upright. Damn, how strong are you?

"No! Don't! I don't want—"

"Shut up! We have a deal, remember? You, me, the magic. I'm doing my part. Magic does, too. And this is your part now. Engorgia rapidus gigans!"

"Mercyyyyyy!" Mirca wailed. "My skin—it doesn't stretch any furthe—". Her voice disappeared into a howl of pain as her breasts rounded out from internal pressure. She took a pair of stooped steps to the center of the room, her back turned to the witch and her rhythmic gestures. Her breasts kept swinging slowly, much like heavy water bags. They were pumped taut now, and rumbled and quivered when they bounced into each other. She fought to keep her grip on the areolae as the nipples were pulled flat and the wrinkles disappeared. It didn't matter that she managed to keep her hands on them. The rest of her breasts just kept growing on and on.