Yrba's Travels Pt. 01

Just when she thought she was going to burst, a shiver of expanding skin ran over her breasts. The tautness was momentarily relieved, but immediately more flesh spilled out, burgeoning out of her grip. She tried to keep her arms close to her body, and her face almost disappeared into the growing cleavage. The ever-increasing weight finally forced her to her knees, but she managed to keep her body upright.

"Mulga abundare!" the gypsy proclaimed.

"What?" Mirca groaned through clenched teeth, grappling with her breasts.

"Conjuring abundant milk," was the answer.

The blonde stopped struggling and slowly shook her head in horror. "No, you can't do that to me—"

"I can. I must. For the sake of you and me both."

"I—I'm burning up!" wailed the blonde. Around the base of her breasts, a ring of her skin heated up. The warmth spread inwards into her flesh, along the throbbing veins glowing through her skin. The muscles beneath the huge, soft milk glands began to tremble, and the onset of the new growth transformed her round, sagging orbs into elongating ovoid monster melons that slipped from her grip for good and hung down to beneath her hip. She recalled the day when she had been ordered to carry wheat sacks around, and one of them had burst open. That was exactly how it felt, liquid-like stuffing bursting out. All too well she remembered how she had been unable to get a hold while the flowing mass spilled on and on and on through her fingers, and the whipping she received afterwards.

And along with the accelerating growth, the spreading of the heat gained speed and raced throughout the whole substance of her boobs. Mirca's breast skin and flesh started to bubble from the inside and swelled outward faster. She finally stumbled and dropped to the floor, on top of her breasts that now looked like two big potato sacks filling with sand out of thin air. The boobs not so much inflated as rather they spilled out, a puddle of boobs, like liquid dough pouring out of a bowl onto a table. Her skin no longer put up any resistance; it just stretched and stretched.

For a few moments, she was able to prop herself up on her hands and feet. Then her breasts' tide forced her arms apart. Fortunately, her erupting boobs were a pair of soft cushions to fall into. She fought for a grip on the skin that flowed out of her chest, but she might as well have held a stream of water. Mirca gave up and wiggled her arms into the calm crack of cleavage in front of her face. Her palms touched cold stones, and she was able to catch her breath, at least for a few moments.

Chapter 4: Wallwrecking

The foot-high mass pouring out of her finally ran against the four walls of the cell and started to rise higher. Mirca by now was almost hysterical. She couldn't move by herself any more; she was tied to her growing boobs on her chest. The waves of her breast flesh rumbled and sloshed back and forth between the cell's walls and now pushed and pulled her around on top of them. In less than a minute, she was lifted from resting on her hands and knees up to kneeling on the floor again, this time surrounded by her boobs that kept on rising, slowly pushing her back towards the wall. Another minute, and she stood upright, dancing on her toetips that barely touched the ground. Most of her weight hung on her monstrous milk factories; and they continued to fill with a deep, gurgling rumble. Her breast skin kept up with the growth now, in long, weird pulses: First it grew taut as that milk sloshed into her out of nowhere, and just as the skin started to get tight, the vague pain caused a phase of stretching noises and the wrapping prepared for the next surge. But it no longer felt too taut or over-stretched at all; her body seemed to have found a comfortable rhythm. She grabbed at the growing wall in front of her and found she could easily make wrinkles. Grabbing and pulling harder, she saw long folds forming between her thumbs and the other fingers, too.

The very next moment, the upward pull on her chest lifted her off her feet. She raised her hands, scraped her knuckles on the low ceiling and clawed at her own boobs to keep her balance. Digging her fingers into the flabby landslide to pull herself further up, she struggled to not topple over, to keep herself from being buried under the swelling milk balloons. She bounced up and down together with the sloshing, gelatinous blobs and quickly started to feel seasick.

Something cold pushed repeatedly against her bottom, and then her back. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, just in time to have a rough, rusty surface painfully scrape her temple. From the corner of her left eye, she saw the cause: The wall of breasts pressed her into the iron bars. Seconds later, she felt the top of her mammaries touch the cold ceiling. The rubbery skin of her breasts squeezed into the corners of the room, and then there wasn't any space left. On her thighs and her stomach and her face, the hot skin of her boobs now started to feel really taut. The pressure inside kept rising the more the room constrained her bosoms. She suddenly remembered the squeezers in the kitchen and what happened to the potatoes once the force on the lever was high eno—

"No! No!! Stop it! It's squashing me! It'll mash me through the bars!" she screamed.

The witch replied through gritted teeth, "Hold on a little longer. I know you can. You're strong. You're not some fragile puppet, are ya? Hold your breath now, because—"

"Nooo! Noo—mmmmph! Mmm... mmm..." The avalanche of her breasts washed over her face, and Mirca's desperate screams turned into muffled groans.

Yrba clenched her fists, gritted her teeth and repeated her incantations and gestures faster and faster. Time was of the essence now. The wall of pale skin was up against the bars; it already formed cushion-like bulges, squeezing through the space between the iron. The drumskin-taut skin glistened with sweat. Every now and then as the witch quietly mumbled, bricks ground out of place and the wooden door creaked. The only other sound filling the air was the squeaky, rubbery, stretching noise of gargantuan growth.

Then the iron bars groaned. Yrba slowly retreated backwards to a corner on the opposite wall of her cell when she saw the metal rods bending under the load.

"Faster, faster! Come on! Inflatium! Inflatium maximalus!" she mumbled while sweat ran over her forehead. Yrba pulled up her wide-spread fingers through magic's thick, throbbing net, grasped more invisible strands of ethereal power as they ran through her fingers and threw them, bundled and twisting, into the wall of flesh. With eyes accustomed to the energy, the sight of Mirca filling out her cell was even more amazing.

Beams of light whizzed by, curving as they were sucked in by the magical gravity of Mirca's breasts. The flesh quivered and swelled each time a bolt succumbed to the pull and crashed from its orbit into Planet Mirca. The cell was the eye of a magic hurricane that drew its strength in from miles around. Against the sparkling light that covered the skin of Mirca's breasts, she could barely make out her dark, motionless frame. Her feet dangled in the air and her arms were widespread and pinioned against the bars by her own boobs. She knew the girl wouldn't hold on much longer, slowly suffocating under her own titflesh.

"Expandere!" she barked at the pair of breasts that filled each and every corner of the other cell. Another tremor rippled through the burgeoning flesh. The light that remained invisible to the common folk got so bright she had to close her eyes. The bars bent as metal screamed like a wounded beast. Sand rained from widening cracks in the ceiling.

And then, finally, the walls came down.

Bricks rained all over the corridor. Inside the cells, the iron bars ripped from their sockets. Mirca's body washed backwards into Yrba's arms on the crest of a wave of quivering boob flesh that kept on multiplying. The corner pillars of the cells held the ceiling up, but just barely.

The witch gesticulated frantically in the air, her finger scribbling patterns to unravel the throbbing veins pumping into Mirca, to stop the magic-infested avalanche from burying them both under the masses of Mirca's endlessly expanding bosom.

As the magical gale died down, the pale, rippling breasts came to a halt. It was not a moment to soon. The swollen flesh bulged out through the gaping hole in the busted wall into the corridor, it hung over the bent and thrown down iron bars, it covered the rubble in Yrba's cell and left barely a yard free between the wall of stone behind her and the wall of boob in front of her.

Yrba held her arm out and ran her fingers over the warm, white mass. Mirca's unconscious body hung from her breasts and bobbed up and down, tied to the inner tides of her mammaries. Now that her mouth was uncovered again with her head hanging backward, the blonde's breath came in huffs and wheezes.

Yrba couldn't resist, she just had to push with both hands into the huge orb and was rewarded with the sight of a long wave sloshing along the surface that went all over and even came back to where she had started it.

A fearful cry made her turn around on the spot. Mirca had jerked awake and clawed at her breasts.

"What have you done? Gods, what have you done to me?! I can't even move!"

Yrba turned and walked away towards the bulge where Mirca's white skin met the stone pillar.

"Yeah, all in due time. I'll take care of that. Don't go away."

She shoved her arm into the crevice and then wedged her body into the gap. With her back towards the wall of yielding flesh and her arms and feet pushing into the pillar, she managed to squeeze herself through and stumbled out into the corridor. Behind her, the elastic mass bounced back and sealed the cell-block off again.

"Go away? Me? Like, how?! Hey! Don't leave me behind! Please!" Mirca's begging came muffled through the still intact door and broken wall of Yrba's cell.

"Don't worry, sweet airhead," mumbled the witch. "You're much too good an opportunity to pass up." She kept on making her way around the huge white wall, pushing her hands into it, probing, searching, until she finally found what she had been looking for. Her hands moved over the outer edge of a rougher patch of skin. It was part of a man-sized areola, half-buried and pointing downwards.

Her fingers dug into the flesh, causing long folds to appear, and then she pulled upward with all her strength. The supple skin stretched, then, with a rubbery "pop", the head-sized teat bobbed up from beneath the swollen mass. She leant her back firmly against the areola and held the protruding nipple in a headlock under her left arm. Behind her, Mirca squealed in surprise and fear.

"Gotta get your pipes open, girl, to bring your size down a notch or two," Yrba muttered. With her right hand's fingers she searched the rough, wrinkled surface for the holes of the pencil-sized milk ducts and easily found them. She wiggled her middle finger into one, and found it clogged. Of course. Good thing the gypsy/witch package required long, claw-like fingernails.

"Never used your boobs for anything, girl, far as I can tell", she grumbled and scraped dried-up residue from the duct until wetness seeped out, then moved on to the next. Minutes later, the nipple leaked like a sieve.

She let go of the spewing sponge on Mirca's left breast and looked around. All right, left nipple's here, then the right one must be about, she pondered, taking a bearing over the columns, about there.

She pulled open the door of the cell to her left. Bingo! The engorged teat was lodged firmly between two bars, at chest's height. She stepped up and grabbed it with both hands.

The very next moment, she stood frozen, her eyes and mouth wide open, gasping for air, her front drenched head to toe with milk. It continued to gush from the ducts. Her first grab had inadvertently burst them open all at once. She noticed, a bit late, the tremble and humming of the whole right breast, brimming with pent-up milk because the left one still blocked most of its growth.

Yrba let go and stepped out of the white shower, spitting and sputtering. Then she wiped off the milk running down her face and licked some from her fingertips.

"Mmmh, tasty, but no, thanks!" she grumbled, simmering over her own inattention. She wiped her face once more and rubbed down over her clothes, but that didn't help much. Her dress was still soaked through and through and clung to her skin, and her hair was a flat, sticky mess, dribbling rivulets of milk over her forehead and into her eyes. She brushed it back and blinked.

"All right, I maybe had that coming. At least, with that out of our way, we can now milk you down, girl," she muttered under her breath. Sprinkling a rain of droplets all around, she brusquely swiveled on her heels and walked out of the cell.

Chapter 5: Squeezing And Wrapping

The bolt on the cell door slipped back. Mirca turned her head in fear. The guards? What would they do to her, naked and bloated and helpless as she was right now?

A dripping, slimy, glistening horror oozed through the door. She gasped, and then she recognized the figure.

"You've come back! I thought the guards were already out there, pinching and poking my nipples to torture me," she sighed with relief. "But... what happened to you?!"

"Don't ask!" Yrba growled, still wiping her face and wringing her clothes.

She took a deep breath, relaxed, and rolled her shoulders. Wiggling her fingers and cracking her knuckles, she readied herself for the next step.

"Right, I'll free you now. You don't have to do a thing. Just hang on." She chuckled. " 'Hang on', get it?"

Mirca stared blankly at her and finally asked, "What?"

"I said 'Hang on' because you're obviously already hanging... oh forget it! This is your first time, so it may sting a little."

"A little?"

Yrba sighed. "Honest answer? A lot. See, all of that gorgeous," she leant in and kissed the taut, sweaty skin, "gorgeous, gorgeous bosom will soon be squeezed and folded back into the package from where it came. For that to work, we'll now blow all that delicious milk out through your teats."

"No!"

"Incarcerare mammariae! Comprimiere! Discarricare mulga!"

A net slipped over Mirca's taut breasts. The net itself escaped her eyes, but its threads cut visibly into her flesh. As with the iron bars, dozens upon dozens of tiny cushions bulged between the unseen strands. Only this material wouldn't tear or rip, ever. She felt the angry rumbling inside her breasts, and the rubbing as the underside of her bosoms crept over the floor while they shrank. Within minutes, her skin lost contact with the ceiling and the crumbled remains of the front wall. As the gap between wall and flesh widened, the hissing noise from the corridor got louder. The itch of liquid cascading out of her nipples quickly turned into burning pain. Mirca sobbed quietly. Tears ran over her face.

Yrba exhaled audibly. "All right, all right. So where's the worst ache?"

Mirca bit her lips. "Nipples. Burning."

The witch stepped out into the corridor. No wonder Mirca was in pain. The milk shot out like a waterfall forced through a bundle of straws, causing the hissing noises. Yrba looked down on herself. That's going to be ugly. Not that it matters any more, I'm already soaked. She quietly sighed.

The nipples were by now reduced to the size of big apples. She grabbed one and held it tight with one hand, while with her other she spooned a handful of milk from the stream. The pressure of the hot fountain almost stripped the skin off her fingers. Scattering all around, the spray had soaked her clothes again within seconds. Yrba wiped her face with her arm before she gently rubbed the fatty liquid over the hot, throbbing nub and was rewarded with Mirca's sigh of relief. The volume of the jets of milk more than doubled as the nipple relaxed and widened again. She waded through the knee-deep sea of milk and repeated the procedure on the other breast.

Another few minutes later, the shrinking had run its course and slowly stopped. Mirca's boobs were down to merely beanbag-chair-size. They rested on her thighs, their thumb-sized nipples pointing towards the ceiling. The remaining thin jets of milk slowly dwindled down and finally ceased. The magic web that had squeezed out the liquid disappeared. The empty bags sagged and distended a bit again.

"Oh heavens, it's finally over. I thought I'd die." Mirca breathed a sigh of relief.

"We need to go on a little bit more. You don't really want to have those deflated bags flapping around, do you?"

"What—? No! Oh no! No more! Please!"

The blonde fearfully eyed the gypsy who started drawing a new set of sigils into the air. Palms facing forward, she held out her hands. Then she moved one hand on top of the other and interlocked her fingers.

"Next part's a bit tricky. I'll fold your skin bags into themselves. First time's a bitch. After that, it's piece o' cake. Might want to clench your teeth now, girl..."

Mirca stared at her and slowly shook her head in fear.

Yrba seemed to grab something big with the rear hand, while pushing her front hand against an invisible surface. Just like wrestling a cork from a bottle...

"Hold on now... extrahere!"

She pulled her hands apart, hard. Mirca rose to her knees, screaming at the top of her lungs, her eyes wide with pain. Her body arched backwards. Her nipples had disappeared with a smack, upending into her contracting breasts and pulling the skin along with them. Around the areolae, the flabby skin puckered and wrinkled over the disappearing flesh below. More and more of the skin piled on. Yrba's motions were those of someone drawing up a huge invisible syringe, sucking the substance from Mirca's udders.

The girl shrieked in the throes of pain of her breast's compression.

"No! Leave them like that! I can carry them! I can! I'll put them over my shoulders! You mustn't make them smaller! I'll rip! Please!"

Her breasts kept on shrinking nevertheless. They ran up over her thighs and her belly. The magic kept on squeezing and folding and wringing the formerly titanic bags into an ever shrinking skin wrapper. Her nipples began to re-emerge, bulging and throbbing while more of the surplus skin amassed in the wrinkles around them. The cherry-sized protuberances rose out of the puckered, quavering ring of her areolae. Finally, her mammaries reached the size they had first grown to, on par with the volume of the ample bust of the witch. The volume, but not the shape. Yrba's huge breasts sagged and hung to her navel without her corsage. But Mirca's stood all by themselves now; they were shaped like curved, bloated cones and had their biggest bulge just slightly off her chest, with nipples pointing outward — similar to two fat horns. She nervously stared at them and almost didn't dare to touch them. Almost.

When she finally mustered the courage and gently poked her forefingers into them, the skin and the flesh below it were rock hard. The yielding softness was gone completely. Those monstrosities sticking out of her chest were taut, they even hummed from bottled-up pressure, urging to burst back out. They itched all over, too. She lifted her hands and —

"Don't scratch!"

The witch climbed over the rubble and knelt down. She ripped a wide piece of her skirt's hem off and wrapped it around Mirca's chest, tying the knot in front carefully, and mumbled another incantation. Tiny flashes of lightning slithered over the colorful garment. Then the boobs pulsed and spilled out beneath the nipples until they filled the impromptu bustier. The cloth held, though it looked like it would almost give in to the hard buds.