- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:

Up and... out? Maybe.

 

 

_______________________________________________

It was easy once Litea got into the groove of it. The almost dance-like shuffle of press, hold, scooch, rest became a pattern so ingrained into her that she nearly forgot it once or twice and feel back into the pit between the armor ad Gwyne's admittedly soft flesh. Still, despite the occasional movement perpetrated by Gwyne and any battle that might've been taking place outside, Litea found her niche. She remembered, with the blessed relief of desperation that made even some bad news good, that she had a small utility knife she could use to gain leverage and purchase. She was, as frenzied as she was, not stupid enough to sink the blade into Gwyne's flesh- that would have led to no doubt discovery, but also more than likely death as well. As such, she was careful to press it into the leather lining of Gwyne's armor.

 

Amid the din and constant movement of muscles both here and her host's, Litea took a bit of brainpower and planed her next move. As far as she could reckon, a battle had commenced while unconscious- that would explain the din and fierce movement. The sudden lull and lax might've indicate either that the battle was over (or near unto), or maybe Gwyne had taken a break. Either one would be a boon to the tiny Mage, and she operated on that assumption- she would continue her climb up, up, and up until she reached the place where she prayed a gorget (the leather or maille neck armor between breast and helm) would not be. If memory served, there would not be one. If not, she would climb up and somehow get down and off the giantess knight, and get help. If not eaten by an animal. Or crushed underfoot by a passing person. Or caught by Gwyne herself. 

 

If the gorget was there, then... Well...

 

She furrowed her brow. The idea, a rather irrational one considering she was Litea's mark, of contacting Gwyne purposefully had been a strange one indeed- what risk would it pose? Did it outweigh the almost certainty of being mashed and mangled between flesh and armor? Would her chances of survival increase if she was saved by the woman she meant to kill? 

 

It was a hard decision. One she hadn't fully committed to, in fact. And, in common fashion of her behavior, she vowed to make that decision later- cross that  particular bridge when she got to it. It made no sense to worry about it here, while climbing up and up and up without even knowing the destination. That determined, she continued her long climb up.

 

Press, hold, scooch, rest, press, hold, scooch, rest, press, hold, scooch, hold.

 

"Dammit!"

 

**********************

 

It was no sooner that Gwyne had wiped off her sword of blood and viscera when the horn blasted thrice in the distance- a long, eerie sort of mourn that was so unlike what it meant- the battle blast had meant, in their distinct tone and length, that the battle as over- either the union had retreated or were enough men down to not make a difference any longer- only a simple game of mop up. Despite her fighting luster and zeal, the signal to end had brought a wave of anxiety washing over her- mop up was all at once relaxing and unnerving. Some of the more desperate attacks made by the losing party would occur, as well as the dying of both sides be brought to either be saved or mercy-killed. 

 

A veteran of a dozen battles in her short twenty five years, Gwyne couldn't bring herself to go and do her duty. It wasn't out of pain or fear or even the wave of anxiety, but it was... It was like...

 

It was almost as though she wasn't done yet. Some unfinished business that she needed to attend to. Some enemy still living or a pair of eyes resting upon her from behind the shaft of a nocked arrow. 

 

As she walked, admittedly aimlessly, her legs shifted in such a way that caused her lower lips to rub up against each other in the most delightful way. Suddenly then it was made clear- the budding unease and anxiety turned then into a hunger for something else. Something very far from the white hallow pit that postbattle brought into her stomach- but instead a warm and wet and eager feeling. 

 

She had to slake her thirst for another kind of struggle- one where she wouldn't mind being pierced by a man's sword or spear, the kind given to him by the gods. 

 

She had to release. 

 

After a quick search, she found a river bank, one whose bank dipped below the field of vision from the regular battlefield. Drawing her sword, she poked her head around and looked for any sign of waiting ambush.

 

Into the mild dip, a small flat embankment sat next to the river, the cold river's tongue lapping away at it. A tree had grown there, tall and strong and no doubt the roots contributing to the sturdiness of the bank. Flowers, apparently unheeding of the battle that took place not meters away, bloomed brightly in the morning sun. It was as ever a picturesque place as there might be. Gwyne half suspected it was once a popular spot for fishing. She wondered, with the other half, if it was too good to be true.

 

Still, with no bodies to see and a good foliage to cover her from prying eyes above, she decided that this would be an adaquate spot- she would keep her sword close by, just in case.

 

Sitting down, Gwyne bit her lip and smiled as her hands found the strings that held her armor together. A few undoings of the knots, usually reserved for making waste, and the little cloth hatch she sewed in herself opened.

 

The rush of cool air emanating off of the river was heavenly- the cool of the breeze kissing her labia gently was almost enough to make her not even want to attempt to pleasure herself. 

 

Resisting the urge, she bit her lip once more and snaked her free had down and caressed herself lovingly, sending a shudder of pleasure up her spine, and a smile plastered on her upper lips. 

 

This was gonna be great.

 

******************

 

Litea found that Gwyne had been hunched over for the past few minutes, the incline where this giantess' shoulders began tipping her off. It made the climb all the easier, and soon enough Litea saw what she believed to be the light of day. 

 

As she pulled herself up, using her rear as the main anchoring point, she again pondered what she would have to do. Would she attempt to speak to Gwyne, and risk her life to maybe save it? Questions would be asked, no doubt, and Litea would have to concoct a web of lies in order to save her own skin. Even so, even if successful, there was no chance that Gwyne wouldn't kill her outright, thinking she might be a spy- or worse, recognize her from the night before. 

 

Tough as those options might be, they might be preferable to the alternative- trying her hand and escaping. Would the fall kill her? Maybe. Then to find someone, all the while avoiding someone who might mistake her for a bug, or avoiding animals (or people, she supposed) that might eat her for breakfast. Even then... Would she even find help? Or anyone willing to listen? Being the size of a bug didn't exactly help her cause- she shuddered at the recollection of her own thoughts that day, of holding Gwyne in her hand, literally, or crushing the life out of her under her foot, payment for her crime against her family. 

 

Would anyone not do the same? 

 

She sighed, knowing what she had to do. 

 

With only a few more pulls, Litea felt the rush of cool on her once again.  She drank deeply the fresh and untainted air, free of the stank stench of waste and heady aroma of woman. She saw the undone mess of blonde above her, bobbing up and down softly in the rhythm of something. What was it? She supposed, then, that it didn't really matter- she was nearly free, and her plan would soon be set into action.

 

Pulling herself up to her feet, Litea tried to find purchase on the taut shoulder flesh of Gwyne. She made the mistake of looking forward, and for a brief second caught herself reeling in vertigo with the sudden height an perspective change. He realized, for the first time, just how tiny she really was. 

 

She trotted up to the peak of Gwyne's shoulder, setting her hands to her sides despite knowing it wasn't the wisest thing to do. To her side was a small latch of leather, and she sat on that to rest for a second. 

 

Is this how the world really looked to fae? Tiny creatures whom she had seen as a child and read about in her studies at the academy? Moreover, how incredible that she was going to shrink down Gwyne to this size!

 

She was so enraptured by the novelty, that she didn't see the hand coming straight for her.

 

 

************************

 

Gwyne inhaled sharply, letting herself give in to the rhythmic pleasure that accompanied brushing her finger over and over across her wet labia and tiny clitoris. She realized that that had been what had driven her during the last hour of battle- lust. How many had she felled, screaming, with nothing but lust behind that sword swing? 

 

The thought amused her, and satisfied her all the more as she plunged deeper into herself. She was getting hotter- this was more than just a session of bean-flicking- she wanted more... Involved. 

 

With a renewed smile she reached her free hand up to undo her breast plate strap- she wanted these boys of hers involved.

 

*************************

 

At the very last second, Litea saw the enormous, almost petite hand come her way. With grace and power it manipulated the fingers to grab a hold off the leather strap that Litea had been resting on, causing the tiny woman to squeak and dodge out of the way. She leaned and fell towards her neck, grabbing a tuft of stray hair that hug down fortuitously near. Her balance broken, Litea struggled to gain another positive foothold, hoping and praying that she wouldn't fall.

 

The air vacuumed and wooshed by her in a massive push as the breastplate fell noisily in front of the giantess she clung to. Two ample and milk white breasts exposed themselves with only a bandage wrapping to cover them from the elements- the heat current, the result of them staying trapped in their metal cage for hours, rushed up to greet Litea, still hanging, in a rush of wind and sweat. 

 

She tried, in vain, to climb back up. Her free hand, at first pushing out to try and find purchase for her feet, was then dedicated to trying to get a second handhold on the hair that she hung by. Once, none. With agile toes, Litea poked her foot out and tried to angle herself at a position to 'jump' and grab on. Once she thought she was secure, she counted to herself.

 

"One," she whimpered, terrified, "two...

 

Right as she began to say three, Gwyne shifted, causing Litea to lose her foothold in her neck. Her gripping hand, already tired and slipping, couldn't handle the weight, and her fingers loosened.

 

Litea careened down, down, down, once again, to the exposed breasts of Gwyne.

 

*******************

 

The build up, swift- the end, so far away. Higher and higher Gwyne climbed, alternating her attention between the soft and swishy swish motion that she glanced her clit and the harder, more intense kneading of her breasts. Her legs clamped, her ass cheeks clenched- her fingers down under quickly became sore, flexing and extending their tendons to compensate and bring a steady push pull push pull to her cunt. Her labia was fully engorged, almost hot the touch. Steam wafted softly in the cool morning breeze, mingling with the river's own fog rising from cool waters. Her breasts, her nipples erect and hard enough to be nearly painful, almost began to be sore- and for a fleeting second she thought she may have been rubbing a little too hard. 

 

Still, despite the pain and despite the exhaustion she felt, the self-love was downright wonderful- squeezing her breasts together and in pleasure was beyond the description of good- more than most of the pathetic fellow soldiers or camp followers she'd bedded. 

 

Better. Better. Getting even better.

 

************

 

Litea slammed hard into the soft right breast, smacking her head and dazing her in no small measure. She was still reeling and trying to decide what planet she was on when her legs, leading the way, slide and led her into the warm fleshy crevice that were Gwyne's assets. Down into the darkness she went, completely enveloped by the prison. The sweat from battle had made it quite slick under there, and so anytime Litea tried to break her fall or try and scramble back up, her hand or foot or butt slipped. 

 

She knew, or rather picked up on the fact, that Gwyne was masturbating, maybe in some weird post-battle ritual- all the more reason, she realized, to get out of there as soon as possible.

 

She got relatively far, almost poking her head out to see around when Gwyne smashed one of her breasts into the other one with a soft moan. Litea was immediately pinned against the hot boobflesh, and got stuck there, pressing and releasing with rhythm. 

 

Stuck there, and even struggling to draw a deep breath, Litea realized, in a moment of vacuum clarity and utter awareness, just how ridiculous this was. 

 

Here she was, stuck on the body of the very woman she was trying to kill, and before she ever had a chance to do the deed, the woman was using her, without her knowledge, as a plaything! Squashed between two mammoth mammaries of a moaning maiden, masturbating in the morning.

 

If this wasn't proof of the gods' sense of humor, Litea didn't know what was. 

 

Her arms tired, as did her legs, and soon enough Litea was just as well to let herself be manipulate by the force rather than struggle against it. This time around, the shock, panic, and absolute terror was not as present as had been during the first incident- maybe, she thought, morbidly, she had just gotten used to it. 

 

Still, with this time to think, she found that her breathing began to come easier- instead of ragged and haggard, she found that she could breathe between strokes of Gwyne's breasts.

 

Her breasts. 

 

Again, she marveled at the absurdity of it all, even uttering a chuckle or two. Still.

 

There were worse places to be, perhaps- the morning chill she had felt trapped in the steel and leather armor that covered Gwyne's behind had been unblessedly cold, and here in the fleshy pocket contrasted to the hot and heavy. It might've been, dare she think it, pleasant if not for the constant knead between.

 

Even with the knead, Litea planned her escape- but as she did so, she felt the boob behind her shift and suddenly raise upward. The sudden movement made her yelp out in surprise- she was moving her fingers, she realized. 

 

Gwyne's hand moved itself under, and began to knead once again- this time a finger snaking its way up and up and poking Litea right in the ass. 

 

She squeaked and resisted the urge to seat away the finger- but the blush on her face indicated something other than mere annoyance- the finger nail, long despite Gwyne's occupational practicalities, reached up and tickled Litea between her seated bum- just enough to tickle, and just enough to flick another trigger. The sudden assault on her nethers made her quiver and shake, and… well, confused. She was confused right then.

 

That would have been the very last feeling Litea ever would have thought to have felt in this situation- certainly not now. This tale, she thought grimly, would be one to tell when she got out of this. If she got out of this. The idea lessened the novelty and pleasure of the short intrusion- the possibility of death, or worse, capture had invaded her mind that she could hardly focus on getting anymore.

 

To say it didn’t do the trick, however, would have been false- the finger descended once again, apparently in search of new flesh to rub, but the deed was done. Litea, despite all her harrowing fear and discomfort, was set aflame, and she spent the rest of that time waiting for Gwyne to finish in the most confusing and complex dilemmas. She had wanted to stop, reach down, finish the job her mark had started for her, but… she couldn’t too much was at stake.

 

She shifted her legs and felt the ripple of pleasure wash through her once again.

 

Well… maybe she’d finish later.

 

******************************

 

 A sharp inhale of breath. A muscle down south clenching. A lower lip bitten to the point of the sweetest of pain. Gwyne finished her self-love in the most glorious of fashions, moaning and clenching her breast hard in her hand. She drifted slowly down from her peak, floating on a cloud and exiting that white hot oblivion that slowly morphed into the surrounding areas once again.

 

She pulled her fingers out of her wet mess of a pussy with a soft schlucking noise, relishing the feel of the river’s cool on her moistened lips once again. Her legs, heretofore squatting, turned to jelly and she fell over, landing on her bum with a delighted giggle and carefree laugh, as though she hadn’t just lived through one of the worst battles of her short life. With a soft sigh, she lay down onto the wet grass- the morning dew clinging to the blades of green wet and soaked the back of her head and back, but she didn’t care- she was contented, happy with her current situation- not so strange a feeling considering her work as a wandering sword. Still, it was moments like these she reveled in, and she had learned early in life to take advantage of opportunities when they arose- she never knew when an arrow might catch in her in the neck of a war hammer cave her chest in.

 

She let the love afters run down her legs and into the wet grass, unknowingly dripping onto some ants who just happened to be under what might’ve been a veritable goddess.

 

Time passed, but how much she could not have known. What might’ve been an hour or a minute. All she knew was that she was… spent. In so many ways. What she needed then was a hot meal and a cool beer- perhaps, she thought with a smirk, there’d be some waiting for her when she got to camp.

 

She was lost in thought when an itch bit her in the chest. Some bug or something must’ve crawled onto her, or maybe a splinter of wood? She lazily flung her hand at the itch, but stopped short when there was another short blast of horns. Five of them, signaling the return and meeting. They’d be debriefed and no doubt congratulated.

 

“Oh, gods above,” she muttered. She had hoped to shed her clothing and go for a dip in the river but it was not to be so- the meeting would no doubt end and they’d all shuffle their way over to the payment coffers, where they’d be divyed up their amounts of hard-earned, blood-stained gold. Then, perhaps, they’d have a party.

 

With ale.

 

And food.

 

And maybe some company to put between her thighs.

 

And, of course, more food.

 

Fighting did always make her hungry- the orgasm made the pangs even worse.

 

Sighing and sitting up, Gwyne reached over and set her armor back on her back and chest and began to tie the small leather straps. She winced when she felt something, perhaps a torn leather pad, dig into her chest, but she bore it.

 

Her gold was waiting for her.

 

And food.

 

**************************

 

Disoriented, Litea cursed herself when she realized she had gone the wrong direction. When Gwyne went prone onto her back, she used the opportunity to upright herself and start to crawl…

 

Alas. When Gwyne had uprighted herself not a minute later, Litea fell headlong down towards Gwyne’s stomach, who to where she thought was the right direction out of the shirt. She thought she might fall right into her lap, but a stroke of luck (or whatever the opposite of such a thing might be) caused her to catch her boot to a string or bra or something. Something that held her fast, and something that kept her upside down.

 

Tears welling in her eyes again, she felt the armor come barreling towards her and engulf her, pinning her to the chest of this gigantic woman once again, but not before she was able to pull herself nntey degrees upwards, allowing, at the very least, her head to not be directly down. Still, the position was not comfortable, even pinned against soft flesh.

 

She felt movement, a small little ‘hup’ as Gwyne rose up, and the gathering of a shield and sword, and there she stayed, thinking to herself- would she even be able to get out?

 

Chapter End Notes:

As much as I'd like to do big ass meats and veggies, sometimes you just gotta keep it simple. This onions and gravy dish will work very well with last chapter's recipe of roasted meat.

Onions and Gravy (from the incomparable 'A Feast of Ice and Fire')

10 ounces of boiler/pearl onions 
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon unsalted butter 
1 sprig of fresh savory herb (savory, rosemary, or thyme) 
1/3 cup of apple cider
1 tablespoon of flour
3 cups of beef stock 
Splash of brandy (if you're into that shit)

1. Clean, peel onions. Cut 7 of them into quarters, set aside with the other whole onions.

2. Heat honey over medium heat in a deep pan, add butter, herbs, and the quartered onions. Cover onions completely. Cook around 8 minutes, or until golden brown. Don't burn- i will burn you if you do.

3. Add cider by thirds, waiting until liquid has heated before adding another splash. Deglaze the pan, mixing it into the gravy.

4. Sprinkle flour over the pan, stir until fully mixed into gravy. Add stock and the whole onions, and bring mix to a simmer. Cook, stirring, for at least another five minutes, and then reduce until gravy has a consistency you like. Season, and serve.

You must login (register) to review.