Yrba's Travels Pt. 11

"Ahem," Yrba coughed.

Patra shrunk and cringed when she realized what she had said. "Oh milady! No! No, I didn't mean you!" She added hastily, reverence causing her voice to tremble, "You're no gypsy, you're a witch, milady. Don't curse me! I meant no insolence! Of course she's a good goddess, too." She mumbled, "I'm just saying. A few girls, they're not happy. Had hoped to become the next in line themselves."

The witch smirked. "And I might be looking at one of them now?"

"Milady!" Patra blushed more, if that was even possible. "Not me! I'm not ... built ... for those things." The woman had instinctively grabbed the folds of cloth over her breasts.

"Now I've just got to take a look, you know?" Yrba remarked.

"Milady, oh please —"

"Bare your chest, Patra," sang the witch.

"M—milady—"

"Patra—?" Now there was an edge to that question. With a sigh, the woman pulled the folds apart. Her breasts were skin, hanging down over her ribs. Their shape ended in triangles crowned with small nipples.

"Yes, that's pretty sad," Yrba admitted. "Always been like this?"

Patra shook her head, mutely. She wrapped herself up in the white cloth again, and then she answered over her shoulder as she picked up the tray with the empty dishes, "Started when I was sixteen. A bad famine, then. Their stuffing just shrank and shrank, and later, it didn't return. I — I will bring your nightgown now, milady, and help you dress for the bed."

Yrba mutely weighed her head and scratched her chin with the back of her hand as the woman hurried away.

~

The colonnaded inner court with its grassy square of thirty by thirty yards, its sole gnarled tree and the dribbling fountain of white marble, fed by the ancient water line from the mountains, soon became Yrba's favorite spot. Nobody ever seemed to go there, and so she spent the days of her slow recovery dozing naked on a blanket in the warm sun or sitting on the ledge surrounding the shallow marble pool and lazily flipping through some of the many old scrolls and tomes in the palace's library. Patra was around, always around, to lift the rim of a chalice of wine or water to Yrba's lips, to turn a recalcitrant or stuck page or to hold a piece of food for the witch to snatch from her servant's hand.

There was no way to shake her, no matter how hard Yrba tried. And so there was not a single moment of privacy, except for the hours of the night, and Patra seemed a light sleeper. Yrba missed the moments of deep relief that fingers or a tongue could give when applied to the right places. Patra was her pair of replacement hands, yet Patra also was her servant, and Yrba had pretty staunch opinions about ordering someone to provide relief. In desperation, the witch had tried a few things while Patra was on her much too quick walks to the kitchen or the winery — namely grinding her groin against the edge of a piece of furniture or humping the round, smooth surface of a column with her legs spread wide — but she only had learned that her body was not as eager to respond to mere friction as Li's. The memory of the dwarfish woman and her unusual obsession with rubbing and all things big made Yrba smile. At the same time, it did nothing to quench the urges that built inside her. As the days went by, the hunger in Yrba's womb grew, along with her irritability.

~

"Haaah—!" rang Patra's surprised gasp and shriek of pain.

Thud. Clang! Boink—oioioioing.

"You clumsy oaf! Raaarrrrgh! Look what you've done!"

Yrba's angry holler bounced around the walls of the courtyard. She shook her arms clean and proceeded to rub the red wine from her face. Rivulets ran down her body, and pieces of buttered bread and ham clung to her torso's skin. Patra wormed on the floor, holding her bruised knee with one hand while the other hastily heaped the scattered canapés and the still spinning chalice back on the tablet.

"Milady, I — I didn't see the stone in the grass, I will clean you right away —"

The unwelcome wake-up call was just the last straw on a towering haystack that had been smoldering for quite a while. Now it exploded into a ball of blazing anger. Yrba flew off the handle. Struggling to her elbows, she screamed all her pent-up frustration right into poor Patra's face. The demure woman jerked and twitched to every angry bark like under a whip.

"Shut up. Shut — up! Shut up! Arrrgh! Dammit! I'm soiled head to toe! Get out of my sight! Oh, I'll talk to Carwon and have you kicked from the palace, you obnoxious crow! Why are you still doing your time here anyway, you're so old, you should long be back in your village!"

Patra clutched the tray tight as she backed away limping. Her lips trembled. Sparkles of tears suddenly welled in her eyes. The tray clattered to the ground, and Patra pressed her fists against her mouth in despair.

"M — Milady," she started, and her stuttering descended into a wailing gargle. "I'm sorry, please, don't send me away — It's all gone — burned to the ground — I can never — this is my only home — oh please, have mercy! Have me flogged or scalded or curse me, but don't send me from the palace! I can't go anywhere else!"

Patra's voice failed, and all that kept on coming were rivers of tears and gargling sobs. She cringed in fear as Yrba struggled upright and quickly bridged the few yards between them. The witch angled her palms out of the way before she clumsily wrapped Patra's trembling body in her arms and clutched the shivering woman tight.

"Oh Patra, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Forgive me! I didn't want to — I didn't know—"

After a second's hesitation, Patra returned the embrace, squeezing desperately against Yrba's soft, sure support while her legs turned into jelly. Shaking and sniffing, Patra slumped to her knees, and Yrba knelt down along with her. Patra dug her wet face into the gypsy's mane and sobbed and wailed, stammering sensless syllables of pain. Had she found the strength to raise her head and look the witch in the face, she'd have seen that Yrba was shedding tears, too. With their heads side by side over each other's shoulder, the unlike women lamented their lost homes together.

~

Yrba dried the woman's face with her lower arm.

"Patra, I didn't mean it. I really didn't mean it. It's not your fault. I won't chase you away. I'm just so —"

The witch sighed, from the depths of her heart and her womb.

"— so wound up. See, I used to touch myself just about every day, before Mirca came along. I guess I miss it a lot." She lifted her scarred, scorched hands. "Still can't do a thing with these, you know."

Patra sniffled her tears away and replied, "Then why didn't you tell me? Milady just needs to say a word. I am your hands, for whatever thing you see me fit to do."

Yrba frowned. "No, I can't ask that of you. You're here to help me cope, not as a sex toy. It's not right."

Patra smiled from underneath her lowered head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Milady! I'd be honored if you allowed me touch you in that special way. I already wondered why a woman of your grace and ampleness would be so reluctant, and —"

She blushed.

"—And, on occasion, when you were asleep, I — don't become angry again, milady, but — I touched myself dreaming about you. Now I promise to do my best to relieve you of your burden, milady. You need not do a thing, just leave it to me."

She put her hands on the witch's shoulders and gently lowered her down on the blanket. Her warm lips nibbled the stuck pieces of food from the chocolate-colored skin. Her tongue lapped up the sweet rivulets of wine. Working her way up over the brown mounds and depressions, she finally engulfed Yrba's big nipples and drew the engorged strawberries into her mouth while her fingertips gently traced the root of the Darkskin's milk-laden breasts.

Yrba panted with closed eyes. The sun heated her dark skin, and Patra's saliva left evaporating, chilly tracks. The licks and kisses wandered down over Yrba's ribs and her belly. Drawn like fluttering moths to a flame, Patra's lips neared the black triangle of wiry hair.

~

Yrba's body was on fire. Patra hadn't promised too much. The woman's experienced lips and fingers knew where to touch the witch's yearning flesh. Soon, Yrba howled and moaned, tossing and turning on the blanket.

"Milady, if you please —?" Patra asked, holding two fingers in front of Yrba's lips. Yrba sucked them deep into her mouth, coated them with her spit and wiggled her tongue around and in between them. When Patra pulled them from Yrba's thick lips, they dripped with saliva. Moments later, the glistening digits disappeared into Yrba's burning hole, stretching it easily.

"You're wide, milady!" gasped the woman.

"Yeeeeeessssss! Oh gooooodsssss! Ungh—!"

Shluurgh. Squish.

"And wet!" Patra added, her eyes wide with surprise. The witch's folds coated her probing fingers with copious lube and consumed the servant's pushing hand inch by inch, wrapping around like a tight mitten.

"Ahhhhh," the gypsy exhaled. Her stretched portal slowly contracted again around the servant's wrist, sealing the hand in. Yrba's hip bucked on the massive presence in her middle, and Patra's hand pumped back and forth, a pulling and pushing piston buried deep in the witch's crotch.

"Oh yes," she groaned, "I'm wide! Stretch me! Make me wider! You're — you're — hhhhuuurrrrnnnnghh!"

She arched her back and soared from the blanket as all her pent-up urges exploded.

~

"Oh, you're so sweet and soft and delicious!" Patra cuddled the soft brown bags that were glowing in the aftermath of delight.

Yrba chuckled. "If you like my mams that much, you should've brought me milk this morning."

"Milady?"

Yrba pulled the woman up and whispered in Patra's ear, tickling the earlobe with her tongue: "Feed me enough milk, and they'll swell to taut udders!"

"Will they? Gee — h—how about a bath then, milady?"

~

"Haaaahhh—" gasped Yrba as the border of warm liquid wandered higher over her body. The witch held her arms straight out, and Patra had her hands in Yrba's armpits and lowered her gently into the milk basin. "Oh m—mmmmm—yiiii! Oh, that's good!" The lower curve of her brown boobs touched the white surface. With every inch, their weight grew smaller as they took to floating. Warmth engulfed Yrba's jugs from all sides until they floated up far enough to break through the milk level. Thick white drops clung to the parts of her breast's skin that were exposed to the air again.

Yrba narrowed her eyes, and her breath grew quicker. She knew that feeling, that faint tickle, the urge to rub her skin to soften it. She knew it from drinking milk, but she hadn't touched any for days.

Touched. The witch gasped.

Goodness, I—I'm swimming in milk. It's — I'm soaking it up through my skin, too! The sensation ran all over her body. All over the parts submerged in milk. Her breasts' glands took notice of the rising tide and woke. Yrba shuddered and gulped. Oh no — what if I'm going to swell everywhere?

"Patra, d—do you see anything odd w—with my body?"

The servant pulled her up again. The normal weight of Yrba's breasts, dragging heavy on her chest, returned.

"Uh — no." The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?"

Yrba drew her lower lip over her teeth. Experimenting. That's how we learn what works and what doesn't.

"Oh, you did nothing wrong, my dear," she replied. "Put me back in. If — if — I tell you to pull me out, just obey right away, okay?"

"Of course, mistress!"

Yrba closed her eyes as she descended into the liquid's white embrace again and focused on the emerging sensations. She sensed the first shivers of growth in her breasts. They floated with the waves as her servant climbed into the bath beside her. And then, suddenly, Patra's gentle, expert fingers felt up the witch's rounding, firming boobs from below.

"Milady! You — I can't believe — you're a goddess, too?! You're growing! You — "

With her arms locked on the rim of the basin, Yrba drew up her thighs and wrapped her legs around the hips of the woman in front of her, pulling her close.

"Let's find out how fast I can grow," she smiled. "Now feed me."

~

Patra lifted the ladle to the witch's lips. She was too nervous, too eager, and as she raised it, Yrba couldn't keep up gulping. The warm milk spilled over her cheeks and dripped down over her breasts. She licked her puffy lips.

"Mmh. Delicious. And still, bathing in it — what a waste. Uuunngh! Here comes another throb—"

Patra's fingers kneaded the expanding brown orbs.

"Milady, it can't be a waste if it reveals your powers so beautifully! You are a true goddess! I want to be your servant forever. Please, have some more milk. I'm begging you, grow bigger and let me witness!"

"Well, since you'll have to wash my hair anyway, one way or the other —"

Yrba lowered herself into the milk until it reached to her upper lip. A tiny vortex started in front of her mouth and grew quickly until every greedy slurp drew a bit of air with it. She shuddered. The warmth of the basin, Patra's unconditional obedience, the thrill of unadulterated decadence, the abundant supply from both her skin and her innards — the sum total of excitement and availability made her breasts' aroused glands burn through the raw stock like fire through dried hay. Yrba knew the slow buildup of tension and fullness, but this was different. The whole volume of her breasts, every single bulbous milk gland, every cubic inch, quavered and trembled. Every cell spewed milk into her spongy tissue. She felt not size, but change of size. Her breasts grew and swelled, not in hours but minutes, and for the first, the very first time, she experienced for herself what countless girls already had felt under her gentle hands. The witch groaned. She couldn't put this in words or thoughts. It was too good. And yet, the final act still was missing. Good thing she had her trusty servant near.

She rose from the warm basin in a breathtaking display of liquid white curtains cascading from the chocolate balcony of her heavy, firm, blown-up, shuddering orbs. Her tongue was a shining pink beacon as it slowly rimmed her dark brown lips. Patra stared up to her in mute rapture. Yrba drew back her shoulders and proudly swayed the brimming bags in front of her servant's face.

"Why just witness if you can enjoy it? Kiss them. Relieve them of their load. Make them squirt."

Patra leaned in. She had barely pressed her pouted lips on the burning brown skin when thin jets of boiling milk spewed from Yrba's throbbing nipples. The witch threw her head back and panted towards the ceiling.

Over the course of the years, Patra had fulfilled just about every imaginable job around the palace and the stables. She knew udders when she saw them, and she knew how to stroke and rub and squeeze and pull, to empty them profoundly while still keeping the cow happy enough to not kick the bucket over. So she gently turned her brown-skinned mistress around and grabbed her neck, pushing her down.

And Yrba was the happiest cow of them all as she leaned forward on her elbows against the rim of the basin. Her howls to every hissing jet of milk turned into long-drawn moos in rhythm with Patra's strokes. The woman's greased fingers dug into Yrba's swollen flesh. Every now and then, the witch beckoned her to stop and soaked herself up again in the tub of milk, just to keep the delights of streaming going.

~

Yrba ran the fingertips of one hand over the palm of the other and plucked away the last clots of brown crust. The skin beneath was as good as new again. In the quiet hours of the last night, her body had finished the work of the many previous days. She held her palms out to Patra.

"Well?"

"Milady!" Her fingertips stroked the smooth new skin. "Oh milady, you sure are blessed with many extraordinary gifts!"

Yrba moved closer to the woman.

"I was blessed with the best of companions, Patra," she smiled and put her hands on the woman's shoulders. Her fingers slipped the toga off her servant's shoulders. The white cloth curled on the floor around Patra's feet. Yrba measured up the slightly worn body as she gently pushed the nervous maid towards the huge bed.

"You served me well." Yrba whispered. "Lay down now." Her hands helped Patra to splay out on the bed. She nuzzled the woman's figure and slowly kissed her way up along the sides of Patra's body, taking her sweet time to cover the ground of Patra's empty, sagging breasts.

"Milady—," stammered the woman, "please, milady, I don't know, I mustn't, I'm not worthy, I'm just a—"

"Hush."

The ribcage under Yrba's wandering lips worked hard. Patra barely managed to force enough cool air through her lungs to stop herself from burning up on the spot. The dark brown fingers with the brighter insides tickled and scratched all over her flaccid chest. They wandered up, over her shoulders, her collarbones, and then Yrba's head moved into the woman's field of view. Patra wrapped her arms around the gypsy and kissed her long and deep, stammering half-choked words of passion. And then that weird wanderer from half a world away broke their embrace and raised a tiny vial in front of Patra's trembling lips.

"This will let my magic into your body. You can guess what for, do you? Tell me, do you truly want to give yourself up to my mercy, just like that? Do you really trust me enough to drink it?"

"I am your servant," Patra humbly replied. "You own me, in life and death. I will do whatever you tell me to."

Yrba gently stroked the woman's cheek.

"No, Patra. It doesn't work like that. What do you truly want? I will not order you to swallow this. I can make some changes, but it's your call. If you say no, well, let's just cuddle a little and then go our separate ways."

Patra smiled. With a sudden move of her head, she snapped at the vial, wrapped her lips around its rim and emptied it to the last drop, savoring the odd taste as the slimy juice ran down her tongue like the flesh of an oyster. The little container slipped from her lips as she pouted and offered her mouth to the witch. She longed to press the plump lips of the Darkskin on hers, to share the last froth in her cheeks with her benefactress, but Yrba raised a forefinger and put it between their faces, gently sealing Patra's lips.

"Sweetie, no. It wouldn't do me any good. It's all for you. Now swallow it and enjoy."

Patra gulped obediently and audibly. Yrba slithered on top of her, dragging her rough skin over the servant's smooth, silky white skin that started to glisten with perspiration.

"What now, milady?" mumbled the woman. "Will I feel — will it hurt?"

"No," Yrba replied with a smile. "It'll take some time. You'll know when you're ready." She squinted and watched the glow of her tincture spread through Patra's body as it irrigated the dried-up wells in the woman's flesh.

"Ooooh. It's coming, milady. It's coming! Filling me — the wetness — now — goodness! It's like all those years ago! It's all coming back! Yes!"

The servant moaned loudly and relished the renewed flames of desire that blazed in her womb. Her strangled, excited yelps drowned Yrba's whispered "Mammae expandere."

"Getting — warmer — so hot..."

She gasped and rose from the bed, only to sag down and writhe moments later. The coarse wool of the blanket scratched over her back, relieving some of the irritating sensations crawling over her skin. Around the root of her breasts, the skin detached from her ribs as the magical padding began. The edge started to wander outwards as her jugs' base spread wider. Yrba dug her knees and thighs into the woman's flanks and rose straight up. She pinched her eyes and reached with her arms into the faint wisps of invisible smoke, hoarding the ethereal power and guiding it near Patra's recipient body that sucked it up right away.