A 12-part tale, laced heavily with lesbian encounters and strange transformations.
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.
Part 1: Jailbreak
"You've got the brawn
I've got the brain
Let's make lots of money"
—
Pet Shop Boys,
Opportunities
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.
The time of this story is similar to our planet's 12th century.
Chapter 1: Waiting For The Last Sunrise
The taller of the two guards in chain mail pulled open the wooden cell door. The short one dragged the unconscious woman inside the cell and dropped her on the cold and dusty floor of worn cobblestones.
"What's she in for?" he asked while catching his breath.
"The noose, by morning. Lord got angry," was the offhand reply by the tall one, holding the torch. "Come on, it's past midnight. We could've been off duty for a quarter of an hour already if you weren't so slow."
"Well, she's heavy! You could've lent a 'and! But no, always me who 'as to carry 'em around!"
"Yeah, 'cause you've got a thing fo' the big un's."
"Willya lookit 'er?! She's tall all right, but ain't got nothing on 'er chest! Felt like carrying a damn gent!"
He kicked the motionless figure.
"Stupid cow! Should've lied back and kept ya mouth shut and yer legs open, not the other way 'round!"
The door was slammed shut, bolted, and locked. The two guards disappeared upstairs, taking the torch with them. After a while, the clouds in the night sky opened up. Moonlight shone through the small, barred windows. The row of large prison cells filled with the pale bluish glow. Each compartment, easily suitable for a hundred inmates, was separated only by rusty but solid iron bars from the adjoining one. The wall towards the corridor was made from heavy bricks, and clearly had been added later. A century ago, an even more impatient ruler than the incumbent gave order to turn the castle's basement stables into this cell-block. Nowadays, with justice being served much more swiftly and with less strain on the royal treasury, they remained empty most of the time.
They weren't empty this night, though.
There was a whimper, barely audible, then the spreadeagled shape of the burly woman began to move. She slowly rolled on her belly and crawled up to the door. Leaning against it, she struggled upright and reached for the small window.
"Water... please...," she begged. For a few moments, her trembling fingers clutched the rusty bars in the door's window. Then she slumped back down. Her long blond hair, a white mess in the weak moonlight, hung matted in her face. She sobbed quietly, and her drawn-up shoulders shook.
"Waste of breath, girl," a dark and husky voice said.
She looked up and saw, with her bleary, half-closed eyes, a rotund heap of rags stirring in the deep shadows of the next cell.
"Ain't nobody waiting outside, ain't nobody listening, ain't nobody coming until sunrise. And then...," the figure stretched her arms, lifted her hand behind her neck, cocked her head and let her tongue hang out, as if strangled by an invisible rope. "You understand?"
"Gypsy!" the blonde uttered, pointing a trembling finger at her.
The other woman, stocky and about five and a half feet tall, chuckled while she kept stretching her limbs. Much of her body's outline was hard to make out in the darkness.
"Amazing. What gave me away? The colorful rags for clothes, or will you claim you're missing anything of value from your pockets already?"
The tall blonde staggered to her feet and stumbled towards her. She fell hard against the bars. Her right hand reached through and grabbed at the other inmate's clothes.
"Water! Please...," she begged again. The gypsy's patchwork dress slipped through her weak grip. Her arm fell, and she slumped down to her knees.
Rearranging the veils and rags wrapping around her body, the other woman asked: "How long since you last drank something?"
"Morning... been all day... at the pillory...," was the whispered reply, mumbled through chapped lips. The pale girl closed her eyes tightly as another cramp gripped her empty stomach.
"Bastards," muttered the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman, kneeling down. "Here, open your mouth...
theeeere's
a good girl. Slowly, slowly." A hand reached through the bars, cupped the blonde's cheek and lifted her head. The skin on the gentle fingers was rough and scarred, the skin of a woman used to working hard for long hours.
The girl felt another wrinkly, rough fingertip, covered in a sweet liquid, touch her mouth. She sucked at it and tasted more juice running over her tongue. Finally, she opened her eyes — and froze.
A big, oblong, almost melon-sized breast hung right in front of her face. The gypsy had lifted her left udder from her dress and had pushed it through between two of the bars. Moving in as close as she could, and reaching with her arms through the adjacent gaps between the bars, she was squeezing and milking her soft, voluminous tit with both hands now. More whitish drops formed on the coarse teat-like nipple that the blonde had mistaken for a fingertip. They were shining on a brown skin that seemed near black in the faint light.
"D—Darkskin? You're a traveling Darkskin trader?"
The woman produced a throaty, deep laugh.
"Oh, let me guess — Princess Obvious, is that you?"
The blonde looked at her, confused.
"Who, me? I don't know about any princesses around here."
Her gaze returned to the nipple and the whitish drops. Her dry tongue licked her lips, producing a rasping sound.
"Funny, I always thought your ilk's milk would be black as well," she remarked.
"You don't get around much, do you? Us Darkskins are not that different. Pink on the inside just like anybody else. Come on, don't play coy now. You're thirsty, and I don't have any use for it right now." The gypsy lifted her breast further. More milk dripped from the hardening nipple. It ran over the taut, bulging areola. "Don't let it go to waste."
"You don't have a bowl of water instead...?"
The gypsy laughed bitterly.
"Now why would the guards give us water during our last night? In case you haven't noticed yet, you're on death row. I guess they figured that anything given to us now would just make more of a mess tomorrow."
Her voice became soft again. "Here, girl. All waiting for you. No point any more in saving it for later."
The blonde did not hesitate any longer and latched onto the sweet source. Drawing milk from the nipple was hard at first, but after a while it became easier and easier until the erect teat dripped and spurted at the slightest touch. The lavish donor moaned quietly every now and then while she squeezed and kneaded her soft flesh.
Chapter 2: Revelations
After several minutes of slowly filling her belly with the delicious milk, the blonde felt a little spit of her own return to her mouth as her body kept absorbing the much-needed liquid. She let go of the swollen knob on the drained breast and belched.
"Sorry! Oh heavens, thank you! Thank you! You've saved my life!"
"For now, at least. You're welcome. Name's Yrba. Yours?"
"Mirca."
"Cute name. Doesn't it mean 'the little one' around these lands?" She cocked her head. "Well, I gather you don't quite live up to it." Pulling her breast back through the bars, she continued: "You know, big girl, there's more waiting for you, if you're not sated yet."
She smiled in the dim moonlight, her dark eyes glistening behind the black curls of her mane that hung into her face. In the shadows, it was hard to tell how old she was. She could've been the blonde's age, twenty, and stacked, or forty. And stacked. Hell, she'd be stacked at any age.
"So? Have another go? Don't worry, second one's on the house as well."
While her left hand reached into her bustier and cupped the other soft, ample melon, her right hand pulled down the rim of the tight garment. The breast spilled over the hem and dangled down. Hanging side by side, the difference in filling was obvious, even in the darkness of the cells. "Go on, I don't mind. In fact, they'll look a better pair after you suck the other down to size as well."
Mirca reached through the bars. She gripped the other milk bag with both hands and pulled the nipple to her lips.
"Careful! You wouldn't pull at your —," Yrba squeaked, then fell silent for a few moments as Mirca backed away and raised her hands in an excusing gesture. Finally, the gypsy continued: "Sorry, I just noticed
you
wouldn't know about that. Don't worry, I'm not angry. Come here..."
She had just now seen the flatness of her cell neighbour in all its sadness, and uttered a sympathetic sigh. She reached for the blonde's wrists and guided her hands.
"Here, I'll show you. Gentle now, put your one hand beneath to lift it and run the other along from the root to the nipple... yes, like that. Squeeze it a little, so you can guide it through the bars — good, good." She nudged around a bit and leant forward. "Yes, that's as far as it'll go. Now slip your other hand through — no, not that gap. The next. Yes, good. Put your fingertips on the — right here. And run them down along — good. Once more. A little stronger. And again. You can feel that?
Goooood.
Now squeeze a little harder — ouch!
Not that hard!
