Short and to the point: This is a Breast Expansion Fetish story. If B.E.'s not up your alley, then you probably shouldn't bother with this tale.β¨β¨ Thank you.
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Siren Song: The Final Chord
by
Paul Gerard (a pen name)
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First Draft started 2008-06-17
This version 2014-06-01
Proof-reading: A very heartfelt thank you to CoffeePilot for the time and patience.
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Altaerna β 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.
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Obscure inspirational music reference:
"Step out into the storm and scream / I am here, I am free" β Juli, Perfekte Welle (translated from German)
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It is the fall of the year 1225 on the world of Altaerna, forty years after Barbara joined the mermaids.
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Chapter 32: Blood in the water, shells on the graves
The mermaid's pale hand, feminine in proportions and yet bigger than a man's, snaked over the rim of the boat. Her long claw-like fingernails dug into the wood. Without any treacherous noise, her slim face rose over the edge. Red-hot hate marred her fair features that were framed by dark green-blue hair hanging straight down with a few stray strands clinging wetly to her square, clenched jaw and the high cheekbones. Straightening her toned arms, mimicking the gentle sway of the boat to not give away her presence, she propped her womanly torso up. The man who stood with his back to her seemed to shrink as more of her amazonian physique rose from the waters. Her equally muscular fish body with the narrow, semi-transparent, veiny fins coiled into the boat. Yard upon yard of the tapering scale-covered trunk snaked up on the unsuspecting sailor's legs until its end lay like a snare around his feet.
"Thhhhhβ," cut her hiss through the backdrop of waves and wind.
"βThhhese waters are forbidden to your kind," she sibilated on, her next words a promise: "Now you die."
He spun around, and the living noose tied up instantly. He lost his footing, but couldn't fall as her body rolled up around his legs like a tentacle, spinning him around and dragging him closer while she rose higher, revealing her towering height as she slowly spread her strong arms and bent her long fingers into claws. The last flash of dusky sunlight sneaking under the low-hanging rain clouds glowed on the edges of her talons ready to dig into his throat to slice and dice and eviscerate.
Two days earlier.
Gusts of autumn wind blew leaves across the deserted graveyard and made them dance around the headstones. Every now and then music and singing from the town in the distance carried faintly across the fields. No one came out to the solemn reminders of life's fleetingness on a day of celebration like this.
The fingertips of the lone woman in her twenties brushed over the withered face of a tombstone with many, many names on it. Her head hung. She didn't hear the approaching footsteps on the mossy ground.
"So this is the big secret," an old voice behind her stated flatly. She jumped up and spun around in surprise. The wiry, aged and yet quite imposing man stood a few yards to her side, resting his frame on a richly ornamented walking staff almost two feet taller than himself. His robe was expensive; its colors shone even in the twilight of the early evening under the overcast sky. Rain clouds loomed at the horizon, and the wind picked up again, tousling his gray hair.
"Secret?" she hemmed nervously, holding her arms crossed over her chest and tugging at the sleeves of her raggedy gown that seemed decades out of place.
He pointed the foot end of his staff at the crimson spot in front of the tombstone. "The red shells appearing over night, fall after fall. One at the stone of all those lost to the sea, then in the last years the other at the former mayor's. Some people started whispering about a ghost or a revenant. I'm quite happy to see it's one of the living." His eyes measured her curves up and down, and reverie entered his voice as he added "Very, very much alive, I gather. Oh do forgive an old man who has to be polite ex officio for a chance to be brash and blunt, and I'll come right out and say you're more than her equal when it comes to the balcony. Quite a feat in itself, besting legendary Menena's younger self on her own turf," he chuckled.
The old-timer stepped to the stranger's side. They faced the tombstone together, and he sighed. "Ah, Menena. I'm thankful she lived to see her efforts bearing fruit. You hear the singing?"
"The celebrations of Town Day, I know," the young woman replied, brushing an unruly strand of her long blond hair back behind her right ear. "The day the Count's order arrived that granted the town rights to this sorry bunch of houses, ten years ago. Yes, I can't deny she's been good for the town after all, even if she was ever the mean screw," sighed the young woman.
"Hah, yes, was she ever!" chuckled the old man. "Mind you, she changed a lot. Besides her duties as a Mayor, I wager she nursed half the town alive today. Amazing feat for a woman who couldn't stomach any milk at all."
The girl looked across the field of withered stones. "She just needed a big gulp of the right kind every now and then," she mumbled.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. Please, tell me more."
"Mighty fine teacher she became when age mellowed her. Mellowed her a little, I should say. Oh, the days when she bargained with the Count! His face always turned beet-root red when she whipped out her tits right in the middle of a debate because she heard a dried-up mother outside, begging for a little milk."
The old man chuckled and leaned in. "A word between us, lass: She did it on purpose. He was so stumped, she bilked him for almost all he was worth. Yes, that was Menena for you!
"Only a few of us old ones remember how she started out." He frowned. "You're too young by far to have known her as the belle dame sans merci. You're not from around either. And yet there's a familiarity right here, in your face and your, if I may say so again, eye-catching curves."
He scratched his trimmed gray beard. "Many years ago, there was a lass with features just like yours. Got into a fight with Menena. Didn't end well for her, of course. Nobody fought Menena and won, except Death, and if he got the better part out of that victory is up for debate.
"So the girl disappears without a trace. Rumors start flying, despite this being Menena we're talking about. You know the gossip. Ooh, girl walks into Menena's shop, never comes out again, that kind of talk. Menena got a very unwelcome visit by a few of the Count's guards. Lucky for her, the town's nurse saw the girl leave, so she was off the hook. Must've shaken Menena, for she disappeared for a day and returned quite a bit more approachable.
Anyway, the girl never showed up again. Some say she had a thing going with the smith and innkeeper of the coach post up the coast when he was still a fisherman, but that it went sour and she ran even further. I wouldn't know. I only saw her once but I still can remember those huge β err, I mean β"
"Anton?" she gasped. "Anton the store clerk? β Anton the Mayor?"
"Barbaraβ?!" he returned in surprise, only to shake his head. "No, I'm just being daft. It's been four decades ... are you perchance her daughter? Her granddaughter even? Of course! Of course, this explains it! Never would've guessed, the gossip made her such a nature's child, but β so she ran off to the big city after all. Nice to know she passed a bit of her story on in the family."
The young woman chuckled. "I don't know about the big city, but did she ever make it big."
"Good, good β " He fell silent for a pensive moment.
"You won't have to worry about mystery shells anymore," she said quietly. "I only came to bid my farewell. This is no longer my home. It hasn't been for quite a while. Now I'll go back to my new ... lands, never to return here."
"Forgive and forget at last, in the family's name, then?"
She looked straight at him, with eyes holding more wisdom than befitted her face's youth.