Teo watches in awe as the black-haired beauty strips in front of him. Her decorated yet mildly scuffed plates falling to the ground around him, the impact of it hitting the terrain, knocking him down flat. Confusion and alarm take hold of his mind as he tries to scramble back to his feet.
He'd simply been doing as he'd done so many times before, preparing the knight's quarters as she returned from her latest triumph. He had even drawn her bath like she'd asked him upon her next return!
His mind is a rush of various thoughts, How can I possibly get her attention? Where do I run, how di-
His train of thought is cut short when Arya's breastplate hits the floor with a resounding clang. Teo never sees it coming. One minute he's a person; Somebody with thoughts, aspirations, fears… now, an unnoticeable splotch on the front of her plating. His entire existence boiled down to being a stain amongst the dents and scratches of war. Bones, guts, blood, all meshing into one sticky unified splotch.
The battle-hardened vixen flexes her arms and legs, relishing in the sudden freedom of movement. She runs a hand through the frazzled black strands of her hair. Feeling the dirt and sweat through the tips of her shortened fingernails. She hardly bothered with appearances, choosing to forgo the arrogant pampering the woman of noble birth always ascribed to themselves too. However, even she deserved a bit of self-care every once in a while.
Deciding to indulge herself a bit, she finishes getting comfortable, rubbing her aching wrists. She can feel the bruising from the tightness and lack of motion in the gloves. She’d need to see Onto, the townies blacksmith, about adding some more flexibility to them. He’s out of the way, but a short ride out would do her overly excited mind some good.
She strips down to just her undergarments. Brown, and relatively plain, and they weren't meant for show, after all. Although she had to admit, the minimalism of the simply colored cloth highlights her toned body well. Eyeing her vanity, Arya steps out of her gear and over towards the seat directly in the front of it, unceremoniously plopping her ass down on the padded stool. Her firm butt forces the pillow to mold with its slopes. Gently, she runs another hand through her unkempt locks. One of these days, she figures she'll cut it all, be done with it for good. Long hair was much too hot in the heat of combat.
Her eyes stray towards the desk, looking among all the frilly utensils and powders that the upper class insisted were essential for a woman of her status. She could only roll her eyes at the thought. A hairbrush and a bath were more than enough.
Arya reaches over all the bottles and jars, grasping an ivory brush in her callous hands. She takes a look in the mirror, scrutinizing her appearance for the first time in what feels like months. Matted frayed ends, dirt, and dried sweat held firm, embedded within her hair. That wouldn't do at all, not if she would be greeting the lord's parliament. At the very least, she could use a touch of brushing.
"My word, she's even more beautiful than I first presumed!" Horace stands proudly despite his diminished height, clothed in only the finest cotton and silks. He's royalty, after all, bug-sized or not; he demands the same amount of respect.
Horace had, in fact, been waiting with the other helpers in Ayra's hovel. He had come from the distant kingdom of Malcar to demand her hand in matrimony. Having heard the stories: The valkyrie of Tworage, they called her! Stories of grand tales. Tales, where a lone knight had taken on a rival lord's army, outnumbered ten to one. Even accounts claiming she challenged the lord herself, bringing back their head, had reached his prestigious ears. He knew he had to have her, and seeing her stripped of armor and regalia only cemented his position.
He gestures to his assistant with a condescending smirk, "Take a good look, boy! This is about the closest you'll see to anything divine!" Prompted by his merciless master, the slender figure gets up slowly, years of verbal abuse drilling into his head that every word from his mouth was law. Horace hadn't treated him well, subsisting off scraps and already well-chewed bones on the journey over.
Looking forward dutifully as his master commanded, he nearly fell right to his already weak knees, his eyes scarcely able to believe what they were seeing. The massive figure strips away armor the size of castles to reveal a distinctly smooth and feminine form. Firm muscles lie underneath, toned from years of sparring and dangerous combat. He's both astounded by her iridescence and overwhelmed by the vast size. She moves briskly, unlike the goliaths in the tales he'd heard as a child. In fact, her speed forces a scream from between his cracked lips as she trudges right for the plush and padded stool they'd been confined to.
Thwap, thwap, thwap, THWAP, THWAP.
Arya's bare feet slap across the smooth stone lining the chamber’s ground, creating a deafening reverb throughout the room. The servant boy backs off but finds himself unable to look away from the tragedy about to befall them. Yet, Horace steps forward confident as always. Clearing his throat, the man of royal blood addresses the women he's been pinning so very strongly for, "Noble Knight, Arya! I, Horace the bright, humbly request you as my betrothed! Together we shall do remarkable things, you and I! United we ca-"
Horace has his speech cut several minutes short as her ass collides with the wooden seat, obliterating him under several tons of firmly toned glutes. His body unquestionably smashed in less than a millisecond, adding just one more speck to her butt amongst the dirt and grime of war. Even his stain is soon gone, wiped about the chair as she gets comfortable, shifting her butt over the seat. The young attendant, however, isn't awarded the similar luxury of instantaneous death. No, instead, the youthful serf who in a previous life had gone by the name of Numel closes his eyes, and he waits for a death that never came.
Gale-like winds ripple past him and across his frail body as he finds himself by some miracle between the two roving mounds of flesh. It's both stuffy and sweltering in this confined space; Arya’s undergarments rest on either side, making up his ceiling and walls. Breathing heavy, he lashes out at the fabric in a drastic attempt to gain her attention, but to no avail. Numel lets out a heart-torn scream, holding it until his lungs feel ablaze with exertion.
If he wants her attention, he knows the only feasible way would be to strike somewhere more tender, more exposed. The thought provokes him to look around more thoroughly. Nevertheless, it’s worthless as both exits from this muggy nightmare are held firmly closed, flattened from the weight of the knight.
Numel reaches for his blade; the very same his father gave him once upon a time. He doesn't hesitate, and with a few clumsy slashes, the edge eats right through the light dressing, providing a window to her most intimate areas. Immediately he's hit with a wave of musk, unlike anything he's encountered before. It's pungent, though not unbearable. Likely due to the better conditions knights receive in the field. He silently thanks the gods for such small mercies before climbing through his artificially created entrance.
Darkness encases him as he squirms inside his newest prison. It's arid and fleshy. The former assistant can just barely make out the microscopic stubble against the otherwise smooth cheeks of Arya’s butt. It’s almost unsettling, and he questions if this was the right choice.
Numel stares upward in awe of it. Regardless of his feelings, he can’t bring himself to look elsewhere. Something so ordinary becomes almost otherworldly at this size. It makes him hesitate, a crucial error on his part. His entire seeable world shifts and turns on a dime. He's violently thrown directly into the greasy anus that sat straight above, sticking to its offensive surface. He gasps and coughs, breathing in the hints of poisonous vapors from beyond the winking star.
"Annnnnd, done!" Arya jumps to her feet proudly, marveling at her hair, now noticeably free of mats. She smiles, striking a few lazy poses to herself in the mirror. The knight is unusually enjoying the chance to embrace her feminine side for once. So rarely did her chaotic lifestyle permit for it. Feeling noticeably better, she heads towards the already drawn bath, making sure first to grab a washcloth hanging off the wall to her side.
She wanders over, resting on the very edge of the large porcelain basin, the flesh of her butt clasping gently to its surface. She's careful, allowing herself to sample the water with her feet beforehand. Touching the water gingerly with a toe, she remarks how odd this is. Why would the water still be warm? Despite the unexplainable circumstance, she is much too weary to concern herself. It’s time to blow off some steam.
Pushing off the rim of the sizable basin with her hands, she hops in, her whole body practically melting into a puddle as she lets a sigh leave her parting lips. Closing her eyes, she slumps deeper into the water, allowing a hand to stray down just below the waves.
Maria sobs into the hem of her companion's skirt, matting the material under the dampness of her tears. Her eyes are red and painful to the touch, irritated from the heavy flow of water pour down her face.
"There there…” Estella pats her gently, fingers running through her long black strands of hair. She's entirely inconsolable, a complete mess, and it’s all she can really do for her right now. Throughout her life, the young girl had realized that seldom was there any way to stop the tears. Maria just needs someone to hold her while she lets it all out.
Holding her friend tight, she glances towards the other unfortunate soul. A scrawny boy, probably a bit younger than them. He paces back and forth, occasionally taking a look over the edge and into the endless sea below them. He’s anxious, jittery even. "This isn't possible! No magic or witchcraft exists strong enough! This must be a dream, yeah that must be it! A dream….” He trails off, deep in reflection. Estella can only shake her head. "Poor fool is going to light up a fire thinking so hard.” Maria doesn't respond, clutching her friend tighter than before. She'd only just met Ren, but the lad clearly didn't have much of a head on his shoulders.
Creaaaaaaak, thoom, thoom, THOOM.
The entire group grows silent. Even Maria looks up, rubbing the wet from her leaking eyes. There's a palpable shift in the air, dread creeping over them as all three watch the owner of these chambers lumber inside. Her most mundane of actions take their collective breath away.
It doesn't take long for Arya to get settled. Stripping her clothes from her toned and powerful physique. There isn't enough time for any of them to panic, let alone act, as she swings her legs over the edge, sending all three into the limitless warm ocean below.
Estella hits the water hard. Dazed but luckily able to find her bearings without much effort. The waters are clear enough that she can thankfully see the top! Nothing but survival is in her mind as she swims up towards the surface. Only, instead of fresh air, she’s greeted by Arya's uncaring toe. It dips inside, creating a whirlpool of force just as Essy manages to breach the surface. She tries to swim away but is no match for the suction created as the knight unassumingly tests the waters with nothing but her enormous digit.
The land slave sputters out water just as she’s furiously sucked back under. She flails, desperately trying to find the surface again, not sure which direction she’s facing any longer. Her eyes grow wide as she frantically tries to think, understanding she's short on time. Unknown to her, running out of air was to be the very least of her problems.
The knight's battle-weary body crashes into the tub with thunderous might, the ensuing chaos displacing the girl completely. As fate would have it, she's fortunately sent straight towards the surface. She gasps for air, her lungs burning harder than the playful sprints she'd had with her brothers as a little girl. Estella treads water in desperation, her dress sopping with water, making it a challenge to keep herself up.
An unexpected sound rocks her world. A sigh of comfort from the heavens. Arya settles in; her colossal body is something the small girl can’t even fathom. Even with her eyes directly on her, Arya spans the entire incalculable distance beneath. Her naked curvey form stretching unendingly. The shrunken serf would scream, had she the energy for it. Instead, the wet and miserable Estella can only look in utter dismay as a massive hand heads directly for her defenseless form.
The hand breaches the water with the force of a stampede, the servant caught in its unmovable path. She's dragged under for the third time, sucking in extensive amounts of water deep into her chest as she yelps out in shock. It brings her down below, Arya’s palm suddenly cupping her most intimate of areas with the hand. Her palm makes contact with the stubs of short hair just above her crotch, mercilessly pulping Estella in an instant as she's caught against it. It’s so fast that the poor little girl never even realizes what’s coming. The microscopic mess goes entirely unnoticed in lu of Arya's impromptu masturbation. By the time she's started working at her clit, the girl is long gone, her body washed away with the current of warm water.
Meanwhile, Numel is fighting for his life just below; Stuck inside a small pocket of musky air. He counts himself lucky, the cheeks of her ass being just tight enough to keep the water at bay. However, a sudden shifting from above causes warm bathwater to engulf him in an instant. Now entirely out of options, he looks regrettably towards the wrinkled brown entrance. Realizing he has no choice, he pushes up against her tightly closed anus, desperate for air.
It doesn't budge.
His mind floods with panic, rushing in like the water had just seconds ago. Lack of oxygen starting to wear him down, he begins ramming it over and over, his very life hinging on getting Arya's asshole open. In a cruel twist of fate, Arya's body tenses and subsequently relaxes at precisely the same time. The all-powerful ring of flesh briefly twitching before gaping open long enough to create a powerful vacuum. The effect is instantaneous. The petrified boy is sucked headfirst with the rapid rush of water into her darkest of orifices. As quickly as it opened, the anus clamps down just as hard, leaving him sealed within the foul-smelling tunnel.
With the muscular entrance being water-tight, the boy is finally given a chance to process it; Numel’s eyes start to well up, sobbing quietly, slumped against the slimy inner walls of her ass.
Ren paddles in place, marveling at the spectacle. Currents from directly underneath threaten to drag him away, though he opposes them with every fiber of his being. His eyes hadn't left her, trailing over her face, watching her expression change and shift with the movement below the waves. His hard manhood slapping lightly against his leg, moving with the motion of the water.
Desire grips him, keeping his body locked in place among the turbulent seas. Despite the ever-looming danger, he simply can't will his body to move. A mixture of confusion and lust keeps him frozen in such disbelief that he never even sees the second hand coming.
It impacts the water with an explosion of activity, Ren having the misfortune of being caught directly beneath Arya's impossibly colossal index finger. It covers a considerable distance in only a couple seconds, pulling the unfortunate boy deep underwater towards an early grave.
Ren does his best to struggle against the force binding him, but it's much too late for any resistance. The hand doesn't care about his diminutive fight and continues to its intended destination unimpeded, passing just below Arya's winking pussy. The boy's eyes go wide as he finds himself face to face with the biggest asshole he's ever witnessed. He squirms uselessly, failing to avoid a messy death at the mercy of a girl's finger.
The serf is subsequently broken against the outer wrinkles of the tight muscle, his frail body rolling across it, bending in ways he never perceived as possible. By the time she pushes inside, Ren is far too gone to realize what's coming. His body, already shattered by the gentle anal massage, explodes under pressure as the knight's fingertip slips inside. His gooey mess doesn't even linger long enough to paint her asshole, being promptly washed away amongst the heated water of the bath.
Numel tries to catch his breath inside the muggy, pulsing tube. Hearing the mucky walls gurgling all different flavors of horrid noises around him. The outside shakes with a constant back and forth, leaving the young boy with nothing but his thoughts. The foul air starts to get to him, making Numel feel like he just might be better off outside.
His loose collection of thoughts are interrupted by a fingertip traveling at an unimaginable speed. He ducks somewhat, more out of surprise than any genuine sense of self-preservation. Still, the finger is far too immense to avoid. Numel screams as Arya's tip makes contact with his oxygen-deprived form, scooping him up.
The tremendous appendage pushes him against the disgusting outer edges of the passage, unknowingly forcing the serf to intimately observe the ribbed texture of her insides. His body lights up with alarm bells; Joints creak, and his lungs now struggle for even the fetid air of her ass, in direct opposition to the pressure. Through the relatively brief period, Numel can't help but question what had he could have possibly done to deserve this sick circumstance. His mouth fills with what feels like gallons of the thick substance as the pressure increases marginally. Simply Arya's attempt to heighten the sensation as she rubs her clit just outside.
Regrettably, such a slight increase in force is still far too much for Numels body to handle. He goes out whimpering, sobbing into hot, acrid flesh as his body pops against Arya's moist insides. Her finger excitedly working what's left of his remains into the entrance of her ass, drawing closer and closer to a tantalizingly sensual crescendo.
Maria coughs, violently expelling some liquid from her lungs. She drapes her nearly naked body over the rim of the basin, thankfully able to reach the top once the water had been displaced by Arya. She'd long since ditched her soaked two-toned gown, finding out quickly that it was doing nothing but slowing her rush to safety.
Finally able to rest her weak muscles, she thumps down after pulling herself up. Her mind racing a mile a minute. She so desperately hoped Essy was all right. She can’t bear to consider life without her. Though, she very nearly does until a particularly loud moan comes from the other end of the tub, prompting Maria to take her first direct look at Arya.
The warrior wears an expression of how she imagines herself during such an act. Magnificent pools of green twinkle through half-lidded eyes, both hands working their magic down below. Maria can't help but be transfixed by her. Despite everything, she feels a tinge of heat welling up in her very core.
"Courageous and brave knight… unguarded and vulnerable….” The servant lets a hand stray below the fabric of her undergarments, much different wetness mixing with the water still clinging to her skin. Shame, embarrassment, disgust, it all hits her. How could she be playing with herself at a time like this? Essy could be in danger!
In spite of the violent protests her consciousness puts out, she doesn't stop. Laying flat, Maria admires her in a way that would be somewhat challenging at a regular size. Every blemish from the marks that dot her shoulders to the sword blow she'd taken under her eye a lifetime ago. It all somehow only adds to her beauty.
"You're beautiful, miss. So very perfect.”
Arya's body shudders almost imperceptibly. The submissive helper likely would have never noticed if not for her imperceivably large scale. A wave travels across her peachy skin and then releases, dispelling throughout her body. The knight relaxes, and Maria watches her sink down deeper into the steamy water. She casts a content sigh, sending chills right down the maid's spine.
Her pupils go wide as Ayra lazily gazes around the den, eyes somehow managing to settle on her speck-like form. She hops up straight away. The girl is ecstatic; she'd almost lost hope of ever being seen! Yet, the knight's keen eye had caught a glimpse of her.
"Miss, please, you must help the others!" She waves frantically, nearly slipping on the polished side of the tub in her haste. Arya’s looms over her almost bare body. Her shadow is vast for little Maria, blocking the dim light from both torches and candles almost entirely. Water drips off her extensive body, expression remaining unchanged as her shapely breasts are pulled on by gravity.
Maria freezes, her mouth and eyebrows contorting into a mixture of worry and confusion.
Arya brings a finger down against Maria, giving her no time to think, let alone make her case. She presses down hard against her with a finger, dragging it roughly along the basin's smooth frame. The noise it produces isn't unlike a scuffed shoe across the clean tile, squeaky. With only the tiniest bit of effort on Arya's part, her body is extensively torn apart, a dark red smudge now staining the otherwise pristine material.
Arya looks at the gooey stain on her finger with a mixture of revulsion and satisfaction. She could deal with the army of Hellion. Heck, she'd even beat down a cavalry commander with her fists alone! But bugs? They never fail to make her skin crawl. Reaching over to her left, she stretches an arm outward, grabbing a towel and standing up in one quick motion. Enough playing around; it was time to check up on Lord Edwin.
She looks around for but a second before spotting the chair in the corner. Her purple and red silk gown, complete with regalia. As much as she hated the frills, she'd begrudgingly promised Edwin to keep up appearances.