The beautiful woman clutched at the sheets, gasping, moaning in time with his thrusts. Vast breasts flowed in rhythmic waves, her long, strong legs drawn back to give him full access to her garden. He filled her completely, running deep inside her with strength and power. It was all she could ever ask for in a lover.
And it wouldn't be enough.
She'd come, maybe even twice, before he spent himself inside her in a hot flood of seed—and she would still need more. She could bed another like him, and another, and another, and still the fire in her loins would burn unquenchable. Such was her curse.
* * *
It had started innocently enough. She was a pleasant but homely lass, a dependable farmhand to her diligent parents. She had her heart set on the tailor's apprentice, a tall, fair-haired young man whose slender, skilled fingers whispered beautiful promises to her most private moments with herself night after night.
He didn't have eyes for her. When a travelling troupe visited their village, she watched how he gazed enraptured at the dancer. She was an exotic beauty with long dark hair that curled and bounced and glistening nut-brown skin that mantled soft, strong curves that seemed to go on forever. Sheer silk and fine embroidery clung to her wide hips, full breasts and strong legs, legs that leapt and kicked and posed with easy grace, that bespoke treasure and wonder just out of the watcher's reach. The dancer was beautiful beyond words and the girl couldn't even work up to jealousy, only resigned inadequacy.
Leaving the show to sob, she'd felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked back into a wizened but kindly elderly face, one of the harmless, mad old women of the village that she saw around.
"You desire him, don't you? That tailor's lad."
She flushed. "N-no, of course not, I- I wouldn't—"
The old lady laughed, a raucous sound almost a cackle that warbled from her aged throat. "Speak plain, girl! I'll not tell a soul. I've no need for gossip."
The girl nodded silently. The old lady sniffed with a wry smile. "As I thought. And you've seen as I have that he only has eyes for fat-bosomed dancers from far-off lands?"
She nodded again, and the old lady's smile became more knowing. "I can help you with that."
Her interest was instantly piqued, and she turned a fascinated gaze into the old lady's moist brown eyes. "Not to change your man's tastes, I'm sorry to say—men are pigs, and nowt can be done about that. But were you desirous of it, I could help change your form to one more appealing to them."
She produced a small phial from the ragged folds of her cloak. "One need only drink this, and picture their heart's desire in their mind's eye."
She gently placed it into the girl's hand, curling her calloused fingers around it. "Now, I know 'tis a difficult question, changing one's flesh merely to suit a man, but—"
The bitter potion was already sliding down her throat, burning as it went. "Oh-hoh. Well. Best of luck to you, lass. My advice to you, once the potion's had its effect on you—you should go and "speak" to your man as soon as you can. The magic requires... resolution."
She'd retreated into the night as mysteriously as she'd appeared, leaving only the lingering taste of the potion on her tongue.
* * *
Another man left her chambers, pulling up his trousers, leaving her sprawled on the mattress with only sheets for modesty. Her generous chest heaved, her ochre skin glistening with sweat. In the ten years she'd lived with this body, time had scarcely even begun to mar it. Her breasts still stood proud with the firmness of youth, despite their size, her skin smooth as finest porcelain, her figure rounded and strong. Her head was crowned by masses of obsidian waves that grew long and lush, while not a hair graced her body beneath her eyebrows. Barely a day went by that she didn't regret her choice that night, but were one to need to live with a bane such as hers, there were worse vessels within which to do so.
That bane was in full force right now. Despite having fully and deliciously spent herself three times in the throes of passion with her most recent lover, she throbbed with need between her legs as though she had not been touched in ten summers. She craved being filled again more than she craved light and air, even knowing it would do nothing to sate her appetite, merely to stave it off for even a moment longer. Men's members occupied all of her waking thoughts as her bud ached fat and swollen, juice dripping in a constant flow from her overworked, needy nethers.
The night she'd imbibed the mysterious draught she'd collapsed into her bed, sweating, quivering and weak. Her flesh crawled, practically bubbling. Though she couldn't see it in the dark, a rich tan was spreading across her skin out from her belly, and darkness was advancing up through her flaxen hair. She'd moaned, feeling her breasts grow tight as they started to swell. She was becoming not a copy of the dancer from the show that night but akin to as if she had been the dancer's sister, bearing similar features and possessing the same exotic beauty, but as if viewed through the lens of her original form.
She'd transformed, growing and shrinking and shifting where it was needed to reshape herself to be what she needed to be for what she wanted. She'd felt her breasts bloating against her hands, firm but soft and yielding, their tips thick and rigid as they grew and spread across the swell of her new chest. Though it hadn't been visible that night, the dancer's teats were large and dark, and hers were rapidly growing and darkening to match.
Another feeling had risen above the discomfort of transformation, one that spread not from her belly but from lower down, one that soon resolved itself into carnal desire. Her bud had engorged and her lips dewed with moisture unbidden by her hands or thoughts, the sensations rising as if a spark had kindled them inside her and now the flame burned untended. Her fingers had ventured down between her legs and the sensation that replied when she touched herself was stronger than anything she'd felt in her life. It was as if the fire she'd lit became lightning that danced inside her, sharp, intense, burning away conscious thought and leaving only desire in its wake.
Within minutes she had stuffed a scrap of bedsheet into her mouth to muffle her moans, because the idea of stopping so as not to be heard was inconceivable. It was powerful, and sublime at the same time. The simple motion of her fingers danced a rhythm that summoned a pleasure of which ordinary people could only dream. Her breath hitched and rattled, her body shook, her toes curled, and barely even before she'd begun her orgasm slammed into her body with tangible force, ripping breath and life from her body, leaving beautiful devastation in its wake.
Almost without her own will she'd started again, this time one of her hands rising up away from her cauldron of lust to sink into one of her breasts, mauling at plush handfuls of flesh that added their own melody to the harmony her new body was creating. Just her tips were more enticing to her touch than even her love garden had been before her transformation. Her body wasn't just beautiful, it was meant to be touched and indulged, an object of desire and a source of endless delight.
She'd worked herself up to another delight again, no less strong for its immediacy, and another, and another. Each gripped her as powerfully as the first had, but none of them came any closer to sating her need for more. It was only when one finally sent her into the arms of fitful sleep that she'd stopped, her beautiful new body collapsed into the bed.
* * *
She drew close to the side of the bed, on her knees, lifting up her breasts that spilled to either side of her hands like wine from a cup.
"I learned this from ladies of the South. The women there are much larger than women here tend to be, more creative with their gifts too. I have seen two women do this for a man at the same time; though there is only one of me, I'm sure you'll agree me more than the equal of any two other girls here?"
She gently shook her breasts to punctuate this, the mounds rising and falling like a ship on the ocean. He nodded, his eyes fixed to them hungrily, his shaft pulsing vigourously between his spread legs and oozing juices from its flexing tip.
She commanded a high price for her company—though not as high as one would assume. Her beauty was of the kind to which bards sung sonnets, her body was that of a goddess and her carnal knowledge was unmatched, but her need for her customers outweighed any desire to demand more.
Her breasts enveloped his manhood and she smiled up at the ecstasy that passed across his face. Unlike her Southern sisters, this act provided as much for her as it did for him, the caress of his shaft across the skin of her peaks sending quivers straight down between her legs. It would not satisfy her, of course, but it staved off the hunger as well as anything could.
Contented lowing rose from her throat, as it always did when she used her body in the manner intended, before she dropped her breasts down and ducked forward, taking his shaft into her mouth. His eyes went wide, then rolled again as she worked her tongue against the welcome intruder.
Like her breasts, her mouth contributed an unusual amount to her enjoyment of the carnal act. To feel a man ache and pulse in her mouth, to feel his heart beat through his cock, to feel his release and take his seed down her throat or across her breasts, was greater than anything besides feeling it inside her nethers.
The first time she'd felt it inside her still burned in her memory. The morning after she'd transformed, she'd snuck out of the house. She was in even greater need than the night before, her sleep assaulted by lascivious dreams, and she knew she needed more than her fingers could provide.
She knew where to get it. She'd headed straight for the tailor, where she knew her flaxen-haired passion would be beginning his day.
He was laying out bolts of cloth on a large table, unaware of anything around him. She'd stepped through the door, clad only in the thin slip she'd grabbed as she left her room. He didn't look up.
"Shop's not open yet, sorry milady."
"I'm not here to shop." The low melody of her voice shocked her. Husky, throaty, rich and seductive.
"A commission? Well, we aren't open, but I can certainly-uhhh..."
He'd looked up, seeing her advancing towards him from the open doorway.
"Goodness, miss, y-you, uh... You must be c-cold, let me-"
"No, not cold. I feel hot, so very hot. Can you help me?"
"Let me get you some water..."
She'd moved close enough to gently lay her hand on his arm.
"I desire something from you, but it's not water."
Before he could move or speak she pulled him close, locking her lips with his. He'd melted into her and she drank deeply of him, every inch of her body singing with joy.
She'd felt his hands on her chest and pushed toward him in open invitation. They'd struggled to wholly hold her new enormity, her flesh overflowing his grasping fingers, but even his clumsy pawing brought forth an incomparable pleasure that drove her to take more.
She'd thrust her hips against him, feeling his growing hardness in his breeches, and the need inside her rose to a keening roar.
"Take me. I need you to take me, right now."
He hadn't hesitated. Soon she was laid back on his work table, legs pulled back with a dancer's agility, cooing exultantly with each of his thrusts. Her breasts had swung back up to her face, swaying waves of feminine bounty. Her flower had parted, slick and hot, allowing him deep inside her. It was all she wanted, she was complete, all she needed was—
Then the tailor had arrived.
Her lover was thrown out and she'd been forced to run as his master raised a clamour over the brazen whore in his workshop. No longer able to return home, she'd made her way to the city in the company of a travelling merchant. It was with him and his assistant that she'd learned of the reality of her new existence as she let them take her many times a day with no end to her need for more.
Becoming one of the city's courtesans, serving the desires of merchants, soldiers and sailors, was a choice clear as day. Her appetites smothered most of her discernment in her lovers and drove her to work long hours—at first, all hours of the day and night until her fortitude failed her.
Her reputation blossomed as fast as her incredible body had, and before long stories travelled far and wide about the most beautiful whore in the world who worked from dawn till dusk. She moved from man to man, and soon in her mind simply from cock to cock, forever chasing a goal always just out of her grasp, spending herself over and over and over again but no closer to satisfaction.
She lived simply, as she had no wants or desires outside of pursuing release. She poured her money and any free time into seeking down doctors, herbalists, alchemists, anyone who would listen and promise a cure for her condition, but none ever bore fruit.
Bit by bit, day by day, her hope for change ebbed away, and she grew accustomed to the idea that this would be the truth of the rest of her life.
* * *
It was him.
She was wandering through the market, taking advantage of a day when her body's craving for touch was at a rare ebb. Over a stall of silks from far off lands she saw a tall figure with long flaxen hair, and immediately her heart skipped a beat. She knew without knowing—something deep inside her stirred as soon as he entered her sight.
It was him.
The ebb surged. She felt the tips of her breasts grow hard, moisture flooding between her thighs. Her mouth dropped in a silent ring of reverential observation. Before she was aware she'd moved she was behind him, instincts honed from years of selling herself sinking into her stance without a thought.
"Good morning, my lord. Would you care for some company?"
He started, turning to face her. He was only even more handsome for the years, his jaw sharp and dusted with blond stubble, his cheekbones high, but his azure eyes remained as soft and kind as the day she'd fallen for him. They were wide with shock as he took in the sight in front of him.
"I-it's you!"
Just the thought that he remembered her after all this time nearly had saw spend herself in the middle of the market.
"Y-you remember me?"
"Remember you? Would that I could forget you! You were the reason I was thrown out! I lost everything—you almost ruined my entire life!"
He pushed close to her, her blood rising. She could feel his scent wreathing her, flooding all her awareness. In tandem his words sank into her like a dagger. Fear and desire weaved in her body in equal measure and for the sweetest moment she cared not whether he kissed her or killed her for both would be glorious.
"And yet, somehow, somehow, I have dreamed of you every single night. I have not taken another woman in all the time we have been apart. I yearn for you."
Their lips met, his hand rising up her back to pull her in. Though her body's lushness belied weakness, and her muscles moved with a dancer's strength, she greatfully allowed him to pull her tightly. Her curves melted against his body as her mouth melted against his lips before she broke the kiss, breath rough, trembling.
"I am yours as I ever was and you may have me whenever you choose. You can take me here if it pleases you; though I dare say we might cause a commotion."
He groaned, still holding her tightly. She could feel his hardness against her, making her womanhood tremble and flood, and it took all her strength not to simply take him herself, right there and then.
"To my bed?"
* * *
She found herself on her back, legs drawn back to allow a man between them, breasts flowing back to her head as she slid backwards along the sheets. Her lover stood at the foot of the bed, flushing madly as he started taking off his tunic.
"I—" he choked lightly, his voice coming fitfully, "I've never done this before."
She propped herself up on her elbows, gazing at him through dark locks of hair that fell artfully about her face. "Do what comes naturally to you, my darling."
"But you are—" he swallowed, "a goddess. How could I offer anything to you?"
"If I am truly a goddess then why would you dare to deny me whatever I desire?" She reached down between her legs, gently stroking her fingers across her sex, making sure his gaze was fixed upon it. "Look at me, darling. My womanhood aches for you. For ten years it has ached for you."
He swallowed, and dropped his trousers. Bereft of his clothing he was slight, almost wiry, though his hands still bore the same delicate strength she'd dreamed about sliding inside her for ten long, lonely, desperate years. Between his legs he was—
In ten years of experience, she had unquestionably seen bigger. Many, in fact. That didn't matter to her at all, because after ten years, size meant absolutely nothing. Men entered her chambers swinging mighty clubs that accomplished less for her than men timidly wielding prongs akin to their thumbs. His penis was perfect.
She closed her legs, rolling forward and crawling across the bed to reach him, to reach out for his manhood, looking up at him through a falling curl of hair. It leapt up for her touch before she gently gripped it, holding it and letting herself feel his heartbeat through its length for a moment before moving her head forward and wrapping her lips around its tip.
It was like it was made for her, or maybe more accurately, it was like she was made for it. Its pulsing length slipped into her mouth, gliding against her tongue. A sensation blossomed through her that she hadn't felt in ten long, tortured years, like the first sip of water after a lifetime of thirst; relief. It was only a taste, but it was enough to know that she needed to keep going more than she'd ever needed anything else.
He groaned, trembling and reaching out to the side to steady himself as she sucked indulgently, moaning with delight as his shaft danced on her tongue until its entire length was down her well-practised throat. She ducked her head up and back down, head moving with the skill of experience and the novelty of pleasure. She let herself enjoy him for a time before gently sliding herself back off his pole, looking up at him again with spit trailing from the peak of his manhood to her lips. He trembled in stunned silence as she slid back against the bed, legs spread in silent welcome.
He fell between them, hands sliding along dancer's flanks, until he could sink to the very hilt inside her. His groan was matched by her shriek of pleasure, her head tilting back and eyes wide in sudden ecstasy. It was as if a piece of her had been missing her entire life and was only just being returned to her. Her body melted into him as their union fulfilled the promise of a cruel, agonising decade, every cell of her transfigured form mystically endowed with a yearning for his touch that finally, gloriously, it was being allowed to feel. Her tremendous breasts, every curve sculpted for his enjoyment, practically leapt to his touch as his hands sunk into the abundant flesh. Her hips, strength born of her wish and his desires, rolled forward to meet him as a conquering lord. Her heart and her soul, their devotion to him forged and tempered in years of endless lust and denied pleasure, greeted him as the first gasping breath breaking the surface of a bottomless lake.
Language left her, her voice nothing but a primal song rising and falling as he speared her. His motion became faster, more desperate, more wild, as the sensation in both of them built on itself, soaring ever higher to one moment in time as inevitable as sunrise, the union she had been yearning for in the depths of her soul for so very long—
He growled and unleashed inside her, and as his seed finally met her body that was the last thing she needed. Ten years of denied climax, a decade of orgasm after orgasm cruelly snatched away from her by mystic providence, all built up inside her a roiling torrent beating against some horrific impenetrable dam, and in an instant the cracks his touch began to spread through that dam collapsed and the entire flood hit her. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him inside her with strength and fury, her cries melding into treaties to whichever gods were listening, her body shuddering and bouncing and shaking and jerking as she finally, blessedly came for the first time since she'd transformed. The curse under which she'd laboured for so long, the horrid torture that had defined her entire life, was finally over.
* * *
There was no question that they move in together. Their hearts beat as one, as they had had done without their knowing for so long, that now that they were together neither would countenance being apart. Her retirement from her sisters at the brothel was bittersweet but loving, but without the magically-enforced gnawing hunger inside her she had no heart for the work any more. She had plenty stashed away in her savings, more than enough to set her tailor up with his own shop and to purchase fine fabrics and silks at best prices from the many traders she had met in her life. She was his muse and his model, and resplendent in his work even an everyday life as a kept woman, her appearances in the market, at the inn, at parties and soirees and festivals, advertised his work on the best possible canvas. Local festivals became appearances at the lord's court, her lover now able to pick and choose work as it pleased him. Through it all they danced, lovers against the world, spending themselves together every morning and every night, each one a reminder of the love and happiness for which she'd suffered—and had she her time again she'd change not a single thing.
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