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Greedy Goblin Girl Grows Girthy


>_< 0_0

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Hey 🤫 this is the first of a few chapters of a short story written for @SilverPathfinder's birthday. She's not on the internet for at least a week, so there's no harm in posting now -- SILV IF YOU HAVE INTERNET DO NOT READ BEFORE YOUR BIRTHDAY lol

Chapter One

Hermit witches sure do live the best.

               I smiled warmly at that thought as I kicked my bare feet from the edge of my back porch. Yes, I thought once again. This is what’s best in life.

               My classmates from the magic academy were a couple months ahead of me in their new careers. Listening to them complain about work only taught me what I didn’t want to do. The half-dozen or so who earned lofty positions as court wizards were drowning in work and politics. Battle mages were stuck in four year contracts and distant campaigns. The sorcerers and sorceresses fared better as independent contractors for adventuring parties, but choosing a competent party was a gamble. As for wizards, well… it took decades to become one of those. Besides, I wasn’t about to become a man no matter how wise and powerful they were, thank you very much.

               Some months had passed and I’d still gotten no closer to choosing my career. Seers were out; I’d flunked that one class I had in divination anyway (why does it matter that I’m an “Aquarius?”). Druids were tempting because I really adored nature, but my classmates were toxic and seeing them twice a year for equinox rituals was just too often. I needed some space, to be alone and treat myself while I figured-out what to do next.

               So it was that I’d become a hermit witch. A small mountain village wrapped in dense wood and morning fog had been desperately trying to hire a new witch after their last one had disappeared two years ago, but they couldn’t afford much, and no one wanted to live so far away from everyone and everything, much less be responsible for nothing more than simple ointments for sick livestock – no one, that is, except me.

               Now I had a humble cottage on a mountaintop, a full twenty minute walk from the village below, and a splendid view of the soaring eagles over the rustling fir trees as far as my eyes could see. True, I was alone up here with no one to talk to, but people were just so dramatic and caused so much stress, so really, I was looking forward to living by myself. Besides, I had everything I needed: my own personal garden growing food and alchemical ingredients alike, a stone fireplace with a cauldron big enough to hide in, a surprisingly-soft bed I had no doubts was magically-enhanced by my missing predecessor, a fully-stocked pantry, enough books to last me a year, my walking staff, and – of course – my pointed big-hat.

               I smiled as I caught myself adjusting it against my head. My massive, obscenely-white, two-foot wide pointed big-hat. How cliché of me. Such a headdress had been a staple of witches everywhere once upon a time, but the novelty of the thing had worn-off over the years. Not that I cared – I couldn’t resist buying the biggest hat I could find at the academy. All my classmates made fun of me for wearing it everywhere and pointed-out how its wide brim was like a mushroom, I couldn’t care less what they thought – even if they all started calling me “Shroom.” I owned the mushroom-girl reputation, and I owned my big-hat.

               I loved my big hat –

               Something scuttered behind me. I twisted back. What was that? Whatever it was had bolted nimbly from one end of the porch to the other.

               I got off the porch and brushed the front of my smock. Was there someone in my cottage? Come to think of it, the footsteps were more a light pitter-patter, so it couldn’t have been a person. Some thing was running around, but what? A squirrel? No, it was bigger. A racoon? Come to think of it, I’d heard two feet instead of four…

               There! Movement just around the house’s corner. A long, pointed ear was in sight, twitching excitedly. I stared at it for several moments, neither me nor the unknown creature moving. The ear was long – at least a foot in length – and covered in fur like a rabbit’s pelt. Unlike a rabbit, the fur was short and coarse.

               Whatever it was, it wasn’t sure if I’d left, so it peeked its little yellow-eyed face around the corner – only to scurry away.

               “Hey!” I ran around the corner after it. “Stop!”

               It’s little legs were no match for mine. I caught sight of it before it could dart around another corner, a pale, puke-green humanoid with surprisingly-round ass cheeks.

               “Stop or I’ll hex you!” I bluffed.

               It stopped in its tracks and turned to face me. At last, I was able to take a proper look at my unwelcome guest.

               It was a female goblin, roughly a foot and a half in height (two and a half counting the ears) indicating it was a fully-grown adult, though young. The long, leathery ears indicated she was a desert-breed, though whatever had brought her here to the forested mountains was a mystery. The cool, foggy climate had clearly taken a toll on her little body, the thin sheen of fur covering her skin being pale and splotched like a rotting, unripe banana, and not an ounce of fat to spare anywhere. Yet despite the harsh climate straining her body, it had clearly hardened her spirit. Her eyes gleamed a vibrant gold as they stared at me with clever mischief.

               “Now then,” I composed myself. “Let’s talk about why you’re in my house.”

               You’re house?” the goblin’s voice squeaked, but her words carried the weight and pride of any dwarven warrior. “You just got here! I found it first!”

               “You…” I fumed-inwardly as I did my best not to stutter, as I was prone to do when frustrated. “No. This is a witches’ cabin. The villagers –”

               “Witch?” one of the goblin’s ears fluttered. “Witch? You’re not a witch!”

               “Yes I am,” I felt my face grow red-hot.

               “Then where’s your wand? Witches have wands.”

               “No they – not all of them – I mean us…”

               “You can’t hex me without a wand! And I’m staying here – finders keepers!”

               “I’m sure the villagers will –”

               It happened so fast, I barely had time to react. In one breath, the goblin was standing before me, grinning ear to ear, and in the next, she’d darted straight under my smock, smacked me hard across my cheeks, and bolted-out the other end.

               “Yoink!” the goblin cried gleefully as she made her escape.

               “You…!” I tripped and fell on my face. Too late, I discovered why the goblin had cried “yoink” – my panties were halfway down my thighs. “You’ll pay for this!”

               But the goblin was already out of sight. Only the furious rustling of forest underbrush betrayed her retreat.

               “You’ll never catch me!” the goblin’s voice taunted me from the woods like a ghost. “Haha! You lose! Gobbo is the best!”

               By the time I got back on my feet and hiked my panties back into place, my new arch-nemesis was already gone. Only the echo of crying eagles remained.

               “Just you wait Gobbo,” I muttered to myself. “You think I’m not a witch? I’ll show you a witch. You’ve never met a witch like Shroom, ace-student of alchemy…”

               In the meantime, I was shutting the window blinds and resting the wood-bar on my door tonight.

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I'm back with the second chapter! These are quick to write because they're shorter and have less lore to juggle around. Next chapter should be up tomorrow as well.

Chapter Two

               That night, I stirred restlessly in my twin-size bed. The bed was not uncomfortable – far from it! The sheets were finely-woven silk dyed crimson red, and the mattress was enchanted to be filled with air. Truly, it was like sleeping atop clouds. Yet I kept waking to creaks in the night, wondering if it really was trees swaying in the wind or Gobbo returning to reclaim “her” house.

               But my worries were for naught. There was no sign of the desert goblin that night, nor the next, or even the next thereafter. I was soon chiding myself for my anxiety – to think that I, a fully-trained witch and grown woman, could be so easily startled by a two-foot goblin! If she so much as tried to slip under my skirt again, I’d punt her through the nearest open window – no magic required.

               So I set myself with tidying my new dwelling, enchanting a broom to sweep the filthy floor, an axe to chop a fallen log for firewood I’d haul inside for the fire later, and a duster to polish every remaining surface and banish the spiders. Such enchantments were difficult to choreograph correctly, but it was worth doing so that I’d never have to lay a finger on the peasant tools again. Still, it was quite draining on my mana to cast so many spells, so I settled into a little afternoon ritual of drinking tea to replenish myself.

               It was in the midst of such a ritual that I heard a panicked screech and a violent clatter.

               “Oh, fucks sake,” I cursed as hot tea spilled across my chest and dripped into my cleavage.

               I scrambled to my feet and hurried across the house. The noise had come from the pantry, a small nook stuffed with canned food and sacks of flour that were the perfect size for a raccoon to hide behind – or a goblin.

               I found the pantry door ajar. Inside, a can of peaches had tumbled to the floor – and my duster lay by its side, snapped in twain.

               I groaned at the sight of it. To think that I was about to relax from spellcasting for the day. Now I had to mend the duster.

               I plucked the canned peaches from the floor. At least that hadn’t shattered. No doubt the last witch knew a little something about enchanted glass-smithing. Impressive. This household of mine never ceased to surprise me.

               And it surprised me at the most inopportune moments! When I returned to my tea cup, I found it completely drained. A suspicious note had been placed beneath it, stained with tea, and splotched with my most expensive ink.

               Niss try! The note read in abhorrent chicken-scratch lines. No won is fast as GOB –

               The goblin’s name – written proudly in extra-large letters – remained unfinished as she’d no-doubt heard me returning. Alas.

               “Damn it,” I muttered. “She’s stolen my quill…”

 

               It was a game of cat and mouse – witch and goblin. A battle of wits and cleverness. Unfortunately, I was nearing the end of my wits, and the goblin was a cunning foe.

               Gobbo was indeed a clever one. Despite barring the doors and windows every night, she still found a way in every day. I knew she was getting inside because things kept happening. Yesterday, a plate goes missing. Today, my freshly-baked breadstick. Tomorrow? Only time would tell. And within a whole week, I had only heard her pattering thrice, and seen her but once. She’d learned the enchanted tools weren’t after her so she hadn’t broken any (thank the good gods), but it was only a matter of time before she did something truly detestable to try and make me leave.

               I sighed as I stirred the boiling concoction in my cauldron for the fifth time. I had to find a way to shut that goblin out for good, but how was I supposed to do that when I could barely catch sight of her? I didn’t even know how she was getting in every night. In the meantime, I resorted to alchemy.

               Alchemy. The most relaxing of the magical arts. I always resorted to it to de-stress. The mere whiff of a potion’s aroma was enough to relax my mind and loosen the knots in my back and shoulders. Hours of potion-making was what made me so good at it.

               Today, I was brewing a growth potion. It was simple enough to make, only a light mixing of ground ingredients set to boil for a time. Just a couple more turns of the hourglass, and I would be able to pour it over the garden for my hungry herbs.

               As it cooled, I collected a light sampling with my ladle and took a sip. Earthy texture… a slight tingling on my lips, but not quite enough kick to it. Another pinch of mint should do it.

               So I got to my feet and made my way to the kitchen counter, looking for my mortar and pestle where I’d been grinding the mint leaves in preparation. The sun was shining warmly outdoors, so I’d left the shutters open to let natural light into the room while I worked. But as I passed the window, I saw something that made me freeze: a pair of long ears poking from the grass just outside.

               It was Gobbo, of course. No doubt, she thought she was well-hidden – and she would be if not for the ears. Once I caught sight of her, the trace of her body was easy enough to see: crouched on all fours with her back turned to me, creeping with barely-controlled excitement towards a pair of black-capped chickadees chirping as they hopped on a patch of bare Earth. I could’ve moved for her. I could’ve tried casting a spell or bolting for the door, but I knew the noise I’d make would’ve had the goblin sprinting for cover before I could stop her.

So I watched from the window, watching Gobbo’s ass cheeks parting the grass as she readied her attack. She got halfway across the yard before the birds sensed her presence. The game was up. Gobbo sprang her ambush early, pouncing an impressive three feet into the air as she clawed at the escaping prey, but her hands swiped thin air, and she tumbled back to earth with an unplanned backflip. The failure apparently didn’t phase her, what with her rolling playfully in the hot dirt kicking-up a small cloud of dust.

It was enough to make me smile wistfully to myself. So this was how a goblin entertained herself. Playing in dirt, tracing her unclipped nails against its surface, carrying a mortar filled with ground mints and dropping the contents into her mouth –

“My mints!” I yelled with sudden realization. “You stole my mints!”

Gobbo glanced back over her shoulder at me and had fled back into the woods in an instant. I was rushing outside to the bare patch not soon-after. The mortar lay abandoned, the ground mints spilled and scattered in the wind.

“Damned goblin,” I growled as I stooped low to reclaim my property. “Is there anything she won’t nibble?”

The thought stirred within me as I returned to stirring my growth potion. Was there anything the goblin wouldn’t eat? Everything edible was apparently a coveted delicacy to the little thief. No doubt it was! Her body was waifishly-thin, and she obviously didn’t cook.

“Hmm…” I smiled deviously as my potion began boiling once more. “A goblin with an appetite… what to do, what to do…”

Poison? Out of the question. Such brews required rare ingredients I did not have in my garden. Besides, their brewing instructions were closely-guarded state secrets not even shared with guilds. Laxative, then? Tempting… but no. Gobbo would know what I’d done and certainly leave a foul present where I least wanted it. Definitely not. What, then? The potions I could make from memory were numerous, and there were more to be learned from the shelves of books my predecessor had collected, but few were useful for the situation. Invisibility? Cat-eye? Healing tonic? Vigour-enhancement? Shampoo? No, no, and good gods no. I had to think of something useful, else I’d be brewing growth potion all night just to help myself think –

I gasped to myself. That’s it! Growth potion! All this while I’d been trying blunt tactics for my little problem, when what I needed was subtlety, deception, and – oh yes – some cunning. My foe was nimble and quick; she could dart and hide anywhere before I could so much as shout after her. I would have to neutralize her strengths – and I would use her gluttonous greed against her.

Grinning, I dipped the ladle into the boiling broth and took a small sip once more. It stung hotly against my lips. It was strong enough for the garden now – but I had bigger plans for it. It needed to be even more potent.

Time to grind more mint.

Edited by >_< 0_0
Had to add a space between scenes
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15 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

The thought never occurred to me, but now I dread wondering what exactly you've been thinking.

Figured my history of profile picks would’ve given away which job I’d pick.
 


Anyway, I’ll take that as a solid “maybe” and assume there will not be any undead characters in this story.

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Edited by Mr.Grignard
Pics for reference
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At this rate I can finish the whole story before Silv comes back

Chapter Three

               The growth potion was ready at long last. After constant mixing, grinding, and mixing again, it was so strong I could feel the inside of my nostrils tingling from its potent fumes. It was so concentrated, I didn’t dare taste-testing it for quality, else I’d suffer a sharpened appetite that would keep me twisting in bed all night.

               The hot, churning brew in my cauldron was a simple yet effective potion commonly used for crops and livestock alike. Once cooled, it could be poured in fields like water. Plants moistened by its touch could grow a season’s worth of height in a mere month, and animals drinking it would fatten-up so long as given enough real food to eat – as would Gobbo, so long as she actually drank some.

               That last thought gave me pause. How would I trick that wily Goblin to drink what looked and tasted like a potion? How indeed… the drink was strong enough to make my eyes water; I did drop several leaves of mint into it… I would have to mix it in with some real food without ruining the taste, and I had to leave it out for her to snatch without making it obvious that’s what I wanted her to do.

               I spent enough time plotting for me to turn my hourglass twice as I sat on my soft, cushioned chair by the fire. The fire itself was dimming as I let the cauldron above cool to a steaming simmer. The fresh smell of mints permeated every spare inch of the house. Gobbo surely knew I was “cooking” at this point. She might even be watching me now, hatching her own plan to steal a bowl of my “soup” (one of my bowls went missing four days ago).

               I sprang to my feet. “That’s it!” I said excitedly. “Soup!”

 

               Soup was the perfect front for my recent actions. Gobbo hadn’t seen me brew potions yet, and she assumed witches used wands for all their spellcasting, so I knew she suspected nothing as I placed the cooled cauldron on the kitchen table and went to the pantry to fetch potatoes to slice and drop into the “stew.”

               To my surprise, she was standing atop the table when I returned. How bold of her to stand before me like that! Still… I could work with this.

               “Gobbo,” I feigned undignified shock. “First you sneak and steal my things and now you’re standing –”

               “Not so fast!” Gobbo darted behind the cauldron for cover and wrapped her arms around it. “No funny business! I can spill the soup!”

               “My soup!” I covered my mouth to hide my bemusement. “You wouldn’t dare.”

               “I can do it!” Gobbo grunted and shifted the heavy object half an inch to prove her point.

               “You think you’ve outsmarted me?” I grinned. “I’ve noticed you filching my snacks when I leave them for too long. So you have a taste for my cooking, do you? Well, you’re going to learn today – because this time I added some spice to it.”

               Gobbo’s right ear twitched, which I’d learned was a tell that she was excited to unleash some sort of mischief. “Spice?” she asked.

               “Be careful, it’s hot,” I smirked. “And I haven’t added the potatoes, so it isn’t even –”

               “Hot? Spice! I’m a desert goblin! I am the hot!”

               And without any prompting from me, she took a deep breath and dunked her face into the growth potion with a messy splash. The cauldron was so big, she had to stand on her toes and lean her whole body to keep slurping. I dared not laugh, for her ears were flexed back behind her half-submerged head, but I did grin maniacally. She’d really fallen for it.

               “Gah!” she emerged for breath after a minute of guzzling, wiping her mouth and nose with her palm. “See?”

               “You ruined it!” I cried as she leapt from the table and darted into another room. “You ruined my soup! Now I have to dump it in the garden and start all over!”

               It was all I could do to keep myself from bursting into laughter. This was easily the greatest trick I had ever pulled. Four years of endless academy pranks and suffering had been made up for in a single afternoon!

               And this was just the beginning.

 

               The next few days passed slowly, all the more-so because my senses were primed for evidence of my hard work bearing fruit. My greedy goblin pest remained safely out of sight, but she was a goblin and prone to making messes. Evidence of her activities littered corners everywhere: spoons and bowls on the floor, a fork sticking from an apple in the pantry, a burst watermelon covered in bite marks left by the back door. The evidence was clear: Gobbo’s appetite for stolen treats had grown, my growth potion was working its magic.

               But it wasn’t enough just to let her snack fruits and vegetables from my pantry. Such food wasn’t fit for a growing goblin! She deserved finer, juicier delicacies. She deserved baked treats and meats, and I was going to buy some just for her.

               So it was that I went to bed, staring excitedly at the rafters above as I absentmindedly rubbed my thighs against each other. Tomorrow I would wake before dawn and hike down the mountain to pay the villagers a visit. It was time to build a personal stock of meat and dairy.

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Got caught by a surprise double-shift and didn't get home until now, but that just means this chapter's extra long.

Chapter Four

               The village itself was so small, it didn’t even have a name – well, I suppose it did, but I hadn’t bothered remembering it. It was just another loose knot of a couple dozen wooden buildings clustered on either side of a dirt road barely fit for a ride on horseback – much less a carriage. That’s right: one dirt road. It didn’t even thread all the way through, merely ending somewhere between the tavern and the inn. This truly was the end of the road.

               That might explain the excitement caused when they spotted me easing my way down the mountainside from the cover of the forest.

               “Petie!” a peasant woman called across an entire field of goats. “Petie, come quick! The witch has come to see us!”

               That got the whole village’s attention. They all started coming out of their dwellings, dropping whatever menial tasks they were busying themselves with to gawk at me and my big hat. I resisted the urge to groan and roll my eyes, for I needed to barter a good bargain.

               “Hello… people…” I suddenly remembered I wasn’t good at class presentations or any public speeches whatsoever. “Is there a baker amongst you?”

               The few dozen peasants gawking at me didn’t seem to notice my bashfulness, but helpfully guided me to the inn with doting hands.

               “Aye, she be needin’ a bite to eat, I reckon,” a strong farmer herded me forwards with a gentle, yet firm prodding of his thick fingers against my back.

               “And a good strong drink, perhaps?” said another, reaching for my free hand.

               “What happens to be your name, lass?” asked a third, smiling with a toothgap wide enough to fit my finger through.

               “I’m not a lass,” I replied. “And witches keep their names secret, else they be woven into curses – but you can call me… uh…”

               The crowd silenced itself, eager to learn my name. Here was my chance to shed my old reputation, to have a name renowned and held in high esteem. It had to be a good one… but what, exactly?

               “I’d heard tell from the messenger last month you were known as Shroom or some such?”

               Fuck it.

               “Shroom. Yes. I’m called Shroom.”

               So we entered the tavern – me and a whole village of insufferable simpletons. I suppose they couldn’t help but be in awe of a magic-wielding witch such as myself – especially when they were so unused to visitors in the first place – but something told me they were more interested in my youthful figure. I saw plenty of the younger ones eyeing me with bated breath. A pity that I had no interest in them. Truly a pity.

               The tavern was spacious enough for such a small village – no doubt they all gathered here nightly. The tavernkeep was a sprightly young ginger churning butter behind the serving counter. Sausages hung from the walls like festival ornaments, and fresh breads and cheeses lined the walls behind him. For the first time that day, I smiled, for I was in the right place, at last.

               “Well, good to see you, good to see you!” the tavernkeep grinned. “I’m Brian the Baker.”

               “And this here’s Shroom,” a villager slapped my shoulder. “She’s a witch, by the way.”

               “Serve us a round of drink!” said another.

               “Actually…” I tried to speak over the commotion. “I’m here to make a trade…”

               “We can talk about it over a mug,” Brian set multiple such mugs on the counter. “The ladies drink free today!”

               “That won’t be necess –“ I paused as the tavern erupted in cheers. “That is… I want to bargain.”

               “Good, very good,” Brian’s voice was as smooth as the beer he was pouring into the mug before me. “What coin have you got for bargaining?”

               “I have this,” I reached into my traveling purse and withdrew a large, corked bottle filled with growth potion. “This will help your crops and livestock grow.”

               “I’m familiar with it,” Brian chuckled.

               “Good gods, lass!” the peasant next to me gawked at my purse. “How did you fit that into there? It’s huge!”

               “It’s just an inventory spell,” I snapped.

               “Leave the poor girl alone; she’s talking to me!” Brian waved him off. “So!” he leaned close. “A gallon of growing potion?” I could grow my flowerbed with this much – maybe the hedges as well.”

               “But this is far more potent – at least triple the strength of whatever you’ve seen. A dose of this will grow wheat an inch a day until it wears-off.”

               Brian had uncorked the bottle for a whiff before sneezing and corking it again. “Truly… worth a small fortune, this is…”

               “In food,” I clasped my hands for emphasis. “I’d like to be paid in food because I can only grow so much myself.”

               “What kind of food?”

               “Meats and breads, milk, cheese, butter – lots of butter – and, oh yes, any desserts you know how to make.”

               “But how do you reckon you’ll be hauling this back up your mountain path?”

               “Nothing inventory and featherweight spells can’t handle,” I smiled and gave my traveling purse a pat.

               “Then it’s settled!” Brian raised his mug. “We’ll toast to it!”

               “But –”

               Too late, the tavern erupted in cheers once more. Everyone had their mugs raised for the occasion. Damned peer pressure.

               “Well, alright,” I raised my mug. “But only one…”

 

               “Uhn…” I stumbled my way back to the garden in front of my house. “What was in those drinks? No way it was just beer…”

               The journey home had been long and perilous, filled with uncounted potholes, stray logs, and slippery rocks. It was a small wonder that I made it without falling stupidly on my drunken face, but at least I had what I needed: a couple dozen pounds of rich, fattening food safely tucked away into my enchanted purse. Gobbo would never know what hit her waistline.

               At last, I was wiping my tired feet against the doormat of my house, opening the door and stepping inside for –

               Splash.

               Water doused my face. My big hat knocked off my head. A loud clattering as my laundry bucket fell to the floor. Light titters and cackling from just out of sight.

               “Damn it, Gobbo!” I huffed. “Fuck!”

               She’d gotten me good this time. The water had me thoroughly soaked. I’d have to strip and hang my clothes out to dry before I started baking.

 

               It was with a heavy sigh that I stood outside in the cool mountain air and began peeling my cold, wet clothes off of my clammy skin.

               “Grit your teeth and bear it,” I muttered as my fingers shivered against the damp cloth. “You’ll be warmer with all this off your shoulders, and there’s fresh firewood inside.”

               First to go was my big hat, of course. A breeze instantly brushed the loose braid of my long, black hair, and I shivered at its unwelcome touch. I needed to finish with this quickly. Next, the smock, followed by my traveling dress were unceremoniously pulled overhead and hung on the clothesline. Wind was blowing directly against my pale skin now, and goosebumps rippled over the top of my breasts and across my flat stomach.

               Well… mostly flat. That Baker had bought me more than a few beers, all churning and rumbling in my stomach. I couldn’t help but rub the taut skin and hope I belched some of the bloat into the wind – but that would be too much to ask, apparently.

               “Huh…” I let a deep breath escape my lips. “The lingerie’s damp. They’ll have to go too.”

               Of course I had proper lingerie. All witches did. To wield magic was a boon to many comforts of the flesh, including the very clothes we wore, and it wasn’t uncommon for academy students to take part-time jobs enchanting our wardrobes. Any self-respecting magic wielder wore fabric that could stretch and fit the very form of the body it clothed – and they did more than clothe. They cradled the very flesh, providing support and comfort in equal measure.

               My lingerie was modest, but no less impressive. A brassiere wrapped around my slender shoulders and under my arms to cup around my breasts, preventing uncomfortable amounts of jostling yet allowing enough room for their skin to breathe. Panties hugged firmly around my waist and hips beneath a girdle that pulled my stockings tightly up my slender thighs. All were a matching, vibrant blue – my favourite colour.

               “Right,” I reached back and undid the clasp on my back. “Just get it over with…”

               My fist-sized breasts were no match for the mountain weather; the nipples instantly hardening as my very breath began to rattle. I braced for a similar chill for when I finally slipped from the panties when I heard a suspicious rustling behind my protruding rear.

               “Gobbo!” I screamed.

               Too late, I turned to face my foe, only to see my big hat scurrying away with little goblin feet!

               “This is the last straw!” I dashed after my hat, cold air burning the inside of my chest. “When I catch you I’ll –”

               The prank was over as suddenly as it began. My big hat lay resting in a patch of weeds just around the corner of the house. I plucked it and placed it on my head quickly, wary of losing it again.

               “I thought you’d know better than to touch a witch’s hat,” I said slowly, eyes tracing the tall grass. “Don’t you know what dangerous magic is trapped within –”

               Ping.

               I yelped and clasped my stinging left cheek. Weeds rustled violently as the goblin made her escape. Did she just… throw a pebble at my rump?

               “Don’t you dare touch my clothes!” my voice echoed against the mountain crags beyond. “If you so much as lay a finger on them you’ll – you’ll burst into flames!”

               Empty threats, but Gobbo knew no better. I’d had enough with the outdoors anyway. I was going to start a fire and warm my bare skin by its side as I read a book – and after that I would cook and bake until the stars shone bright.

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Took a small break over the weekend because I did overtime, but now it's time for Shroom vs Gobbo again

Chapter Five

               It may be surprising, but I had never taken myself to baking before. The art of making food was a time-consuming habit fit for common townsmen and their wives while I, a student of the magical arts, was far too busy to indulge in such a hobby. I’d barely considered food as anything more than fuel as I studied my tomes and brewed my potions hours into the night.

               Things were different now. There were no exams to cram for, no annoying classmates preparing to prank me, nor even the bustle of academy life to distract me. I could devote an entire day to baking if I so wished, and as I delved into the craft, I wondered why I hadn’t done so sooner.

               Baking. I smiled to myself as I carefully removed fresh buns from the fireplace. Was there anything in this world so similar to my first love, alchemy? So similar, in fact, that every skill I’d gained from one translated seamlessly into the other. Cutting sticks of butter was like slicing taproot, mixing spices and honey into my creations was as simple as mixing any magical ingredients, and the baker’s cookbook was no harder to read than my personal spellbooks.

               So I’d devoted myself to baking. Learning how to turn flour into dough was simple enough, and once I’d perfected that, the rest came naturally. Day by day, my collection of breads grew, from a humble stack of breadsticks, to a basket of muffins, loaves, and cinnamon buns. It was more than I could hope to eat alone, but then again, that was the point of all this.

               Gobbo was sampling my treats from the very beginning. At first she was ripping dough from my batches whenever I turned my back more than a few moments, but that stopped almost immediately when she caught that first whiff of baked bread. From that day on, my baking went unhindered, all the better for her to snitch fresh goods.

               No doubt Gobbo thought she was clever enough to not arouse suspicion from me, the little thief, but I had a keen eye and a keener mind. I knew exactly how many rolls and muffins I’d made, and could clearly see each missing item. Stray crumbs were all over the house. I could almost tell where the goblin was by the sound of my enchanted broom sweeping her messes off the floor, though she no doubt had learned how to avoid the broom long enough to enjoy herself – but that wasn’t important. The pest was well-fed, and it was time to accelerate my plans for her.

               Now that I’d perfected the art of baking and gotten the goblin hooked on my delicacies, it was time to discern what treats she liked the most. The breadsticks were the first of my goods to start vanishing, but they were long and rather tough to bite into for such a small humanoid as her. As soon as I started making small, softer delicacies, the breadsticks were ignored. For now, her favourite treat was cinnamon buns. They were my first attempt at using icing in my baking, and the sweet, dripping liquid spread over my sumptuous buns was clearly a smash hit. In fact, it seemed they were so delicious that they disappeared faster than my other goods. Apparently, the goblin cared more about getting her cinnamon bun fix than covering her tracks. How sloppy of her.

               I was making a second batch of cinnamon buns that very moment, in fact. As I’d mentioned earlier, I’d just pulled them from my fireplace and set them on the windowsill so they could cool enough for me to spread the icing over them. I wasn’t afraid of Gobbo stealing any before they were ready; she knew they’d be doubly-delicious with the icing than without, and would wait for me to put the finishing touches upon them.

               I smirked as I leafed through my cookbook and studied the copious notes I’d written into the margins. My little green nemesis was certain to enjoy my latest creation. I’d tinkered with the standard recipe and improved it with an extra stick of rich, fattening butter she would no doubt find irresistible.

               I read a few pages of the cookbook, idly imagining what other delicacies I could create when a gentle breeze from the open window reminded me not to forget icing the cinnamon buns resting within it. I closed the book with a merry hum and readied the butter knife and the jar of icing.

               That’s when I spotted her in the garden: Gobbo lay resting in the bare patch of dirt she enjoyed playing in, reclining on her side with a croissant in her palm like a miniature queen. I gasped at the sight, for I hadn’t caught sight of her since the bucket incident. The goblin had her back to me as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Wasn’t she wary of been seen by me?

               Yet despite my initial shock, I couldn’t help but admire my handiwork beginning to take its toll on the little goblin. Gone were the dark splotches plaguing her pale, green skin, replaced with a healthy hue of green like a patch of freshly-sprouted grass. Gone also were the lanky, malnourished limbs, all signs of bone padded with soft flesh with a hint of muscle within. Gobbo had gained quite rapidly in only a few weeks. Ironically, it seemed to have done some good for her health.

               Gobbo must have heard me somehow, for she glanced over her shoulder at me, mouth full of croissant. We stared across the garden at each other, neither speaking or moving much. I watched her slowly chewing with her mouth open, utterly lacking in table manners, before swallowing and returning her full attention to what was left of “her” food. With her back turned to me, she lifted her free arm and gave her ass a resounding smack.

               I smiled at the sight, for I couldn’t be more pleased. Gobbo thought herself to have the advantage. She thought herself to be the true master of this dwelling, feasting upon my culinary creations with impunity like a highway robber collecting extortions from hapless travellers. She thought she was winning the fight against me, but I knew better – and the evidence was in the very cheeks she’d slapped to assert dominance. Rounded and juicy. Firm yet plump. Just like these cinnamon buns…

               And I hadn’t even started with the meats yet…

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It might be a little surprising, but I never had much of a thing for stuffing because I like girls being comfortable when they eat. Today however... today is the exception. It is time for a proper stuffing chapter!

Chapter Six

               First the baking, next the grilling. I’d delayed cooking any of my newly-purchased meat because I wanted to perfect my baking before trying simpler arts. At least, that’s what I told myself. In truth, it was because I hadn’t a taste for cooked meat. The servings I’d tried at the academy were never quite fresh, and were either too stringy or too greasy for my sensitive stomach. But a month had passed already, and my stash of flour was getting low, so there was nothing to it but to grill.

               So it was that I woke to the sound of morning birds, made myself ready by sunrise, and made my way to my larder. It was a small, half-buried chamber beneath the house, entered through a tightly-locked hatch from the outside. When I’d first discovered the room, it had been nothing but a dirty hovel filled with old webs and half-gnawed chicken bones suspiciously littered around the edges. Still, I barely had to stoop to fit my diminutive frame inside, and my enchanted instruments made quick work of the clutter. A few freezing spells were all it took to transform the dirty den into a larder fit for a nobleman.

               I looked about the larder now, surrounded by hanging meats chilled by enchanted mist wafting permanently down from the rafters above. The raw flesh sparkled and glittered as the morning light touched it from behind me. Beef sirloin, flank of pork (Brian had insisted this was the best part), five whole chickens, some samplings of river-fish caught upstream of the village, and a couple hares were what I had to choose from. It was quite a selection… but I would choose the pork for today.

               After all, it seemed the fattiest of the selection…

 

               “Cut into strips…” I muttered to myself for the fifth time. “…then lay across the grill…”

               I was busy at work in the kitchen, doing my best to follow Brian’s cookbook to the letter and make “bacon.” The method appeared simple enough, and it certainly didn’t seem as if I’d spoiled it if the amazing smell wafting through the house meant anything. Astoundingly rich – overwhelmingly rich. I’d never been more sure that untested food would taste delicious. Perhaps it was time to taste a sample?

               I gave my freshest batch of bacon strips a curious look. I’d been using three grills to hasten my cooking, one to rest over the fire, one to lay new strips upon, and a third to lay upon the table to cool. That final grill had stopped sizzling, in fact. I could certainly taste one – I still had to eat, after all.

               So I took hold of a bacon strip in my delicate hand. It was so brittle, nearly half of it snapped at my touch. It made me worry I’d overcooked them, but then I took a bite and a moan of delight escaped my lips. The bacon was still hot – it bit me as hard as I bit it – yet its taste was unlike anything I had ever had in my life! It was as delicious as its overwhelming smell promised and more! Such a perfect blend of meat and fat had never been experienced before. To think that such an ugly beast could be so… perfect! Gobbo would surely gobble these up.

               A sudden crunch of wood followed by a muffled thump and a panicked yelp startled me from my thoughts. I twisted ‘round with a spring in my step to find none other than the goblin thief herself tumbled in a heap of rotted wood and plaster on my rocking chair. She groaned with discomfort, but not pain. Apparently the chair’s thick cushions had broken her fall.

               “Oomph,” the goblin stared upwards at a small hole in my rafters. “What happun…”

               “Gobbo,” I lay my hands on my hips.

               She gawked at me in utter shock, gasping that I could be so close. For a single heartbeat, she was too petrified to move, until finally springing to action, desperately flailing every limb to escape as I sprang forward and reached out –

               “Got you!” I cried triumphantly.

               “Get off! Off!” Gobbo kicked her stubby legs in vain as I held her at arms’ length from me. “I’ll bite you! I’ll knot your hair!”

               Her empty threats made me cackle with delight, for I had caught the pesky varmint at last, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to escape. My hands were gripped firmly about her waist, and I noted how plump and soft its sides were growing with no lack of satisfaction. Satisfying, also, was her round, doubly-orbed backside and stocky thighs.

               But now that I had her, what was I to do? I could toss her out the window, but I knew she would find a way inside easily enough. I did want to exact punishment for the Big Hat incident. Perhaps a proper thrashing of her plump cheeks was called for? Perhaps… but not quite clever enough to make us even. I desired a more satisfying punishment – and I was beginning to realize exactly what it was.

               “My, my aren’t you a greedy little goblin,” I chuckled. “What were you doing up there? Plotting to steal my bacon, were you?”

               “No…” Gobbo answered softly, ears drooping to her sides.

               “Now, now, don’t lie,” I began turning back to the table. “I’ve seen my sweets going missing; I’ve heard the broom busy sweeping your dirty crumbs off the floor. You’ve taken quite a liking to my cooking, haven’t you?”

               “W-what are you doing? Where are we going?” Gobbo’s high-pitched voice rose to a squeak as we passed the empty cauldron towards the table.

               “Simple,” I placed her gently upon the chair at the head of the table. “If you love my cooking so much, well, it seems only fitting that as punishment you’ll finish eating what I’ve made. After all, it’s never proper to waste food.”

               “Never!” Gobbo shook her fists defiantly and kicked her feet – only to realize that her legs wouldn’t move. “Uh?” she rocked side to side with mounting panic, but her legs never budged an inch. “What is… you witch! You glued my ass!”

               “Oh, I’m afraid it’s not so simple,” I purred with satisfaction as I pulled a thick book from my shelf and lifted the goblin to place her upon it. “See? Why don’t you sit on this? A little boost to help you reach over the table.”

               “My legs!” she cried. “My legs!

               “Oh, stop it. Your legs aren’t hurt in the least. I merely enchanted them as I did the rest of the tools in the house. They are mine to command now – and I command them not to leap from that table till you’ve finished your breakfast!”

               “No,” she squirmed desperately. “No, I don’t want it!”

               “But you do,” I grinned. “Why else were you spying in the kitchen? I bet you couldn’t resist the first whiff of my bacon strips. Well?”

               “I was a little curious, but I don’t want it anymore! It’s smelly!”

               “That’s too bad – because the spell holding your legs won’t be broken till you finish your food.”

               As I’d been speaking, I’d loaded the first batch of bacon onto a plate. I placed them before her now: a dozen smoking, crispy strips.

               “Eat up,” I scratched one of her ears (which swatted furiously back like a cat’s). “Got to make room; there’s plenty more…”

               She caught sight of the meat left to be cut and cooked – ten pounds of pork the size of her head – and despaired.

               “Noooo!” she moaned.

               “Yessss,” I purred.

               With a strip between my thumb and fingers, I fed the first bite into the goblin’s mouth and beamed with delight as she began to chew. She closed her eyes, refusing to look in mine, and with a sniff resigned herself to pawing her hands over the remaining strips and gnawing them.

               So began my greatest cooking session yet, cutting raw pork, laying it upon my grills and feeding it into the flames whilst pulling more back out and letting it cool. All the while, Gobbo resigned herself to chewing, making surprisingly-quick work of the delicious strips, yet still struggling to free herself from time to time. All for naught, of course. She ate her bacon just the same.

               Plate by plate, the little goblin dutifully chewed her way to freedom, glowering indignantly as I piled fresh bacon for her to eat. The head-sized slab of pork was steadily whittled-down like a sculptor’s rock. It wasn’t until it was half gone before she mustered the courage to speak again.

               “You think it’s funny?” she muttered as she chewed with her mouth open. “You’re really going to try eating me? Gonna throw me in a stew? Well, you won’t do it! You won’t want to! I’m too soiled and dirty!”

               I couldn’t help but laugh – it was rather comical. “Me? Brew goblin stew? Never! Bacon tastes far better don’t you think?”

               To prove my point, I sampled a bit of bacon myself. It was delicious, and far too much so to be wasted on my prank. I hadn’t even eaten my own breakfast! Of course I’d partake in it. Regardless, Gobbo stared incredulously at me, perhaps letting me whittle down her enormous share of the food before swallowing her mouthful and defiantly stiffening her chin.

               “Then… you can eat some,” she straightened herself as much as a short humanoid could. “I’ve had too much already – no way I can eat any more. I’m stuffed.

               “Stuffed?” I grinned with a strip of bacon snapping between my teeth with a satisfying crunch. “Stuffed? You think I hadn’t planned for that?”

               Gobbo’s ears lowered, betraying her fright. “What… but, I can’t! There’s too much!”

               “Perhaps you noticed the butter dripping off your bacon?” I pointed at her plate. “I’m afraid it’s not butter.”

               “Not butter? I can’t believe it! I watched you make it! I mean uh…”

               “Yes. Mostly butter, but mixed with a very special salve,” I leaned by the fireplace and tapped a half-empty bottle atop the shelf hanging over it. “This is maternity lotion – a magical substance for expecting mothers. It prevents unsightly stretchmarks, you see.”

               “Witch!” Gobbo screamed as she gripped the table’s edge with both hands. “Sorceress!”

               “Yes,” I smiled. “The lotion is coating your stomach from within. It will let your belly stretch and grow quite round indeed – enough to let you finish your food without any trouble whatsoever. Now then, enough talk. You have plenty more to eat.”

               Now that Gobbo was aware of the lotion, she was acutely aware of how swollen her belly was getting, and wouldn’t stop moaning unpleasantly as she felt it grow with every bite. I sighed and did my best to ignore her. It spoiled some of the fun telling her about the lotion, but not enough to make me stop giving the goblin her just desserts.

               I toiled onwards, stacking bacon onto her plate as she grabbed a stick in each hand, making theatrics of the whole thing. All the while, her belly continued to round itself out, resting heavily atop her lap and expanding in all directions, akin to a ripe lime – better yet, a ripening watermelon. I couldn’t help but stare at my handiwork with satisfaction as I would any plant in my immaculate garden. Truly, I had a green thumb.

               The slab of pork slimmed away slice by slice, till it was gone at last. My morning of grilling bacon was nearly over. With the last batch cooked, I let the fire diminish to a simmer, and moved the last slices to that fateful plate. I sat myself across the table from my captive guest, smiling innocently at her with my hands cradling my head. She glared back, still chewing.

               “I hadn’t thought of it,” I plucked a bacon strip of my own from the half-finished final plate. “But I just realized even though your belly can stretch round as a pumpkin, you probably aren’t hungry anymore…”

               “So full…” Gobbo groaned, putting up a pitiful front.

               “Ah-ah… manners,” I nipped at the corner of my bacon. “You must finish your last bites.”

               “Too full… can’t eat…”

               “You know, if I eat too many of these, who knows if the spell holding your legs will –”

               Gobbo shovelled the last of the bacon into her mouth with shocking speed. Before I could say a word, she munched what looked like three mouthfuls at once and swallowed a visible wad of it down her neck.

               “Ah, of course,” I said idly. “The maternity lotion is all over your mouth and throat as well…”

               “Ha!” Gobbo bounced giddily on her seat. “My legs! I have my legs back –”

               Thmp.

               “Oh,” I peeked under the table. “Careful now… you’re a lot rounder and heavier than you were.

               The goblin had fallen to the floor with a splat of her round gut. Fortunately, the semi-elastic dome of her belly had protected her from injury, and she was already springing clumsily to her feet cradling her bulge with both hands.

               “Now let that be a lesson to you!” I called after her as she scurried madly around the nearest corner. “Well then…” I smoothed the front of my smock. “Time to make a breakfast of my own.”

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Oh nooo, who could've seen this one coming?

Chapter Seven

               It wasn’t until another week had passed before I noticed something amiss – not with Gobbo; the little rascal remained hidden as the bacon in her belly digested – but with me.

               It happened one pleasant morning. I stretched myself awake with the sun’s morning rays bathing me in a warm, orange glow, slipped out of bed, and began dressing for the day. I was already humming happily to myself, thinking of new pastries I could bake for lunch, not to mention brewing a couple bottles of common potions to sell in the village for once. Indeed, my life was improving in all respects. To have my day ruined was an impossibility – simply unthinkable.

               And that’s when I saw it. As I drew back the backstraps to my smock to tighten it across my front, a little bulge pressed against its middle. I paused immediately, not even daring to breathe as I stared down past my modest bosom at the unwelcome new feature on my body. A little mound of softness was making itself known, pressing softly around the edges of my navel like the bagels I’d been planning to make for supper.

               All at once, I felt my skin chill to the bone and my head grow faint. Could it be? Was it possible that I… but no. It couldn’t be! I, the Shroom Witch, ace student of alchemy, would never…

               Good gods and goddesses! How could I let this happen? I could grab a whole handful of my stomach! The fat was forming a tubby ring around my middle! How could I not notice? Had the elasticity of my lingerie and loose dresses betrayed me? Had a sedentary life in a mountain home reduced my metabolism so much? Had I overindulged in my own baking? No. No, surely not! But what, then? How was it possible to have grown so soft – and how soft, exactly? What if my buttocks jiggled with every step? What if my chin had grown soft? It was too difficult to tell just by pinching myself.

               I desperately needed a mirror. Such things were not necessarily an exotic luxury, but they were not common either. In any case, my personal appearance had never mattered to me enough to buy one. Such things were for the vain wives of merchants or perhaps a royal seamstress fitting a noblewoman’s ball gown directly to her body. No. I was not so self-absorbed as to need such a thing, not when I had more important matters to attend to and there was nothing about my figure to worry about –

               Until now.

               A new fear began to form within me: fear that the goblin would notice my chub before I could get rid of it. That must never happen!

               So I began to dress accordingly, abandoning my idle plans for baking and readying myself for a trek down the mountain to the village below. My pantry was filled with enchanted glass cans stocked by my mysterious predecessor. That meant she’d bought them nearby, and the villagers would surely know more.

               They better not notice my pudge.

 

               “Oi!” a peasant woman sprang to her feet from a field of tall grass like a curious elk. “Shroom is coming to see us!”

               The quiet little village came to life with the sound of several dozen gawkers. This time I did groan, but more because of the uncomfortable clothes I’d donned for the journey than anything.

               The trip down the mountain had been the first long journey I’d walked in weeks, and for the first time I began to truly notice the subtle changes of my body. For one, my brassiere was proving inadequate for the task of preventing too much bouncing in my chest. I wasn’t used to the sensation of my own breasts jostling against my chest like dunnage in a ship’s cargo hold, and was thoroughly sick of them already. But such discomfort paled in comparison to my utter hate and frustration with my own posterior, which was jiggling for the first time in my life, reminding me with every jump across stray logs and mud puddles that I desperately needed to diet. I could even feel its poofy flesh bulging from every corner of my panties, and I’d already paused twice to unwedge them.

               But now that I’d finally reached the village, surrounded by so many admirers, I had to do my utmost best to ensure my gain was as hidden and secret as the royal treasury.

               “My but aren’t you hot in all those layers, darling?” a woman asked innocently.

               “Fine, I’m fine,” I said quickly. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”

               “She’s positively sweltering in that scarf and winter coat!” an onlooker pointed at me. “Lookit the sweat beading ‘cross her brow!”

               “Oh, come off it Petey,” the man’s wife slapped his side with the back of her hand. “Shroom must know something she hasn’t told us.”

               “P’raps a mighty storm be coming? It’d be a shame since her growth potion got the harvest in its prime two moons early!”

               “She’s come to warn us, then!”

               “No, not that,” I pursed my lips and took pause to cool my frustration. “Do any of you know where I can find a glass smith?”

 

               Of course, the village was far to small to have any smith – much less a glass smith. Yet it was no time at all before the overly-helpful villagers had guided me to the tavern once more. It seemed I was fated to meet Brian the Baker once again.

               “Well, oh well,” he grinned. “You’ve come back! And here I was worrying you didn’t like the food I’d made after all.”

               “No, the food was quite delicious,” I blurted before realizing what I’d said. “Um…”

               “Why don’t you put your coat and hat on the rack and settle down for a drink or two?”

               “I can’t – I mean… that is, I need to buy a mirror.”

               “Well, then! It appears you’re in luck, for a traveling merchant stopped by not long after your last visit. I happened to purchase one of his larger mirrors for myself… what’s it worth to a beautiful little lady such as yourself?”

               “I’m not a little la – I mean… have you ever heard of maternity lotion?”

               “I have,” he began pouring beer into mugs.

               “I brought a gallon… we could trade it…”

               He finished pouring the beers and took a look at the large, corked jar of lotion I’d just pulled from my travelling purse and placed on his countertop.

               “I know a few around the village who would be appreciating a sampling of this soon,” he tapped the glass with a finger for emphasis. “And it’s useful for a great many more things than pregnant wives as well.”

               “That’s true.”

               “But it’s not quite worth a full-length mirror. Not quite.”

               “What, then?”

               “A few rounds of beer,” he said smoothly. “With me.”

               “O-oh…” I instinctively sucked my stomach in at the mere thought of filling it with anything. “Beer?”

               “You enjoyed it so much last time, remember?” he smiled innocently. “And it’s a nice tradition as well.”

               Drinking anything was not what I wanted in the slightest, but the more I thought of it, the more I realized how hot and thirsty I’d made myself traveling in my winter’s coat in the late summer heat, and how hungry I’d become not daring to eat a bite all day, and so it was that I took the mug in my hands and let Brian bump his own against it.

               “Just a couple…” I blushed as I prepared to take a sip.

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1 hour ago, Batman76 said:

Do glad I found time to read this in one go. I love the characters in this, can't help but feel sympathy for Gobbo getting kicked out of her house by some witch!

It's not too late for Shroom to be kicked-out instead...

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Chapter Eight

               “Ooh…”

               It was only now, in the last moments of sunlight, that I was finishing my shamefully drunken journey back home. I stumbled slowly, cradling my poor belly in one hand while holding my enchanted purse steady with the other. How could I be so **, I wondered for the dozenth time. I’d only had three mugs of it! Yet here I was, barely making it home without tripping over myself, swollen and gassy with my entire body soaked with sweat from my scarfed neck down to my woolly-socked ankles. I almost regretted donning the whole winter’s outfit – I almost regretted the whole journey altogether – but now I had exactly what I wanted: a full-length mirror.

               “Ahh, finally home,” I groaned as I entered the front door. “Time to – hic – use the mirror.”

               It was a miracle that I’d gotten home in one piece, but all the more miraculous that I managed to pull the mirror back out of the enchanted purse without dropping it. It was truly a full-body mirror, ovular in shape and supported by slender wooden beams that would prop it on the floor. Now that I had it standing in my bedroom, I couldn’t imagine how I’d managed the journey – imagine going without a purse with an inventory spell! But here it was, in one piece, and there I was, my sweaty, swaying reflection staring back at me – wait, was that Gobbo behind me?

               I twisted round to catch a glimpse of the goblin. No sign of her after all, but the movement was dramatic enough to finally drain what was left of my luck. My clumsy feet tripped over my spare pair of boots, and I tumbled clumsily on the bed.

               “Oof,” the whole situation seemed hilarious to me, and triggered a fit of girlish giggles. “Stupid Shroom… stupid… sweaty Shroom…”

               At last, I began stripping myself of my layers. First to come off were my boots, which peeled away from my feet easily enough. Next, the winter coat, which was harder to free myself from than I thought due to how clumsy my fingers were against the waistbelt and buttons. Then, with the coat hanging open and sweat almost visibly steaming from within, I suddenly remembered my scarf wrapped around my neck and disposed of that. This was followed by a brief moment of panic as I realized my hat was missing from my head, but then I spotted it had tumbled to the far end of the bed and returned to unclothing myself. Everything that had been under my coat was thoroughly soaked and desperately needed thorough washing, and I was all too eager to free my clammy skin from it.

               “Ahh,” I sighed with delight as I unstrapped the leggings from my garter belt and slipped them down my thighs. “I needed this… now to look in the – oh!”

               I noticed my bedroom door was hanging open and shut it with a snap of my magical fingers. My panic made the spell slam it a little too hard, but now I was truly alone – no one was to see me in my current, pudgy state.

               “Right,” I stood from the bed and walked before the mirror in my lingerie. “Mirror, mirror – hic ­– on the wall, who’s the… oh, fuck it all, it’s just a mirror…”

               There I was, white skin shimmering with a sheen of sweat like uncooked chicken, but otherwise not too bad-looking. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen my reflection – there were mirrors in the academy to ensure our uniform cloaks fit perfectly – but it had been a few months since I had a proper look at myself. The first thing I noticed was my long hair being a full foot longer than it had been. The tail end of my braid now brushed down to the small of my back, so perhaps I’d go about clipping it again. As for the rest of me, well, it seemed I wasn’t quite as fat as I’d feared. The brassiere fit comfortably, but the breasts within were full enough to form cleavage. My waistline was as prominent as it ever was, but only because it hadn’t added as many inches as my softened hips. My thighs were still shapely, but if I brought them close, they touched together.

               “I should be fine,” I muttered to myself. “So long as I don’t indulge so much. Not a bad figure, either. I should be able to hide this until – oh no.”

               As I spoke to myself, I’d been twisting my body this way and that, making mental note of every rebellious bulge, and as I moved to the side I finally spotted the most rebellious bulge of all: my lower belly.

               “Oh dear…” I patted the unwelcome pooch, which boldly extended a couple inches outward from just below the navel. “This is – hic – this won’t do. Perhaps… perhaps this is just bloating from the beer? Or perhaps, Shroom, you should stop drinking that beer in the first place? Stupid, stupid Shroom. Why did you drink so much?”

               I tried sucking-in, and was pleased with the results. It was as if I were thin again! Well… except for the swollen tits, not to mention enough fat on my bum to hold and shake with my –

               Gobbo was under my bed. I screamed. She screamed. I started throwing my clothes at her. She scurried her plump legs fast as they could and scratched the floor with her unclipped claws – all the way to a hole in the wall.

               “You… you stupid fat goblin!” I yelled as I reached under the bed after her.

               Unfortunately for me, she was only two of those three things. Even though she was visibly-struggling to shove her plump cheeks through the little hole, she popped inside before my hand could reach her, and promptly shoved a rock into the gap that seamlessly matched the rest of the wall’s foundation.

               So there I was, cursing to myself with my naked belly rubbing against the wooden floor. No wonder my goblin foe was getting past my locked doors and windows; she was literally passing through the walls! If I wanted this whole mess sorted-out, I would need to keep fattening her up – and that meant I had to keep baking.

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This would've been posted eight hours earlier if not for a surprise double-shift

Chapter Nine

               The battle of wits carried-on and there was no sign of surrender from my little goblin pest. The culinary fight had certainly taken a toll on my figure as well, but I refused to give up my dream of truly having a dwelling of my very own, free of mischief and messes, so I resolved to continue cooking.

               So the days passed, and I continued perfecting my baking and grilling. I was more careful now, resorting to sample less of my experimental creations and even make smaller, healthier side dishes of my own to snack upon. This worked for exactly two days before I started noticing my personal salads and soups going missing. It seemed Gobbo was becoming wary of my creations – perhaps she only trusted food that I myself would partake in?

               No matter (I thought to myself), I would shed some pounds through vigorous exercise. But that plan fell through before I even began it. How was I supposed to exercise without the little green spy learning what I was doing? Gobbo must never discover my weighty predicament. No. Air-squats and pushups in the brisk mountain air were out of the question. Besides, winter weather was coming quickly – not that it factored into my plans or anything.

               I had to resort to other ways to melt my fat away, and the pending harvest provided the perfect excuse. So it was that every morning I would put a simple broth into the cauldron and have it cooking over the fireplace while I laboured outside in the garden, searching for things to stew. It was peaceful work, but frustrating. With how often I had to stoop to uproot vegetables or pluck gourds. Had there been any discernible pattern to it, I’d have enchanted garden tools to do the work for me – exercise be damned – but it was a living garden, filled with ripe fruits and blossoming flowers, and not junk dropped by a spoiled goblin. The plants needed proper care.

               And how well I cared for them! The potent growth potion I’d created had done wonders to everything it touched, with fruits ripening to twice their normal size, crops growing thrice their normal height, and some roots reaching so deep, it was a wonder I could pull them out. It was quite a harvest – all the more so since the first snowfall would be any day now.

               Ah, so many crops yielded, and so little time to eat them all! If only I could sell the surplus to the villagers, but I knew they’d have no interest since they had growth-potion-enhanced crops of their own. I could also resort to replanting some, but after several days of this and effectively doubling the size of the garden, I realized this was in vain. There was only one thing left to do: cook the rest before it spoiled.

               So began days of vigorous cooking – and eating. I took solace in the notion that plants of all kinds were filling yet healthy substitutes for fatty meats or dairy, so I tried not to worry myself as I partook in the delicacies I created. The delicacies themselves were experimentations with new, seasonal recipes for autumn harvests: apple pie, pumpkin pie, berry cobbler, and much more. Surely such things were nutritious and proper for a young witch such as myself?

               In any case, Gobbo continued gobbling whatever I didn’t eat. She didn’t even keep it secret anymore; all the extra food would vanish within a day. All well and good, of course; she was growing fatter by the day now, and I saw plenty enough evidence in the flesh. Gobbo no longer scurried away at the sight of me, merely glaring daggers over her shoulder as she waddled her chafing thighs together a safe distance away. She even dared to peek at me cooking through the kitchen window once! She was growing complacently bold – and clumsy.

               The thought of the goblin growing so girthy was pleasing to me, and I would daydream of the moment I would finally expel her from my domain at last – until one night, in the comfort of my bed, I had a disturbing thought. If she was fattening-up, what of my own body? It was enough to have me raising from my pillow and sitting cross-legged, deep in thought. The soft swell of my belly pressed its weight against my nightgown, and felt prone to folding against itself like dough.

               Already feeling a cold sweat coming, I swallowed and stared nervously down my body. Was it softer? Was I growing fatter as well?

               I slammed my head against the pillow and tossed uncomfortably within my bedsheets. Surly I was exercising enough in the garden? My belly wasn’t bigger. It was just bloated from supper… which was five hours ago…

               I sprang from bed and cast a simple glow spell in my left hand. Slowly, I approached the full-length mirror, my body bathed in the radiant, orange light. The cast from the flickering shadows gave the illusion of depth to my curves – I hoped it was an illusion. The bulge of my tummy against my nightgown looked like the waxing Moon, and the darkness in my cleavage made it look bottomless.

               “Right,” I moved to the side to get a more accurate view of my belly. “Don’t panic. Don’t… oh… oh no…”

               My belly looked rounder. Stouter. The donut-shaped bulge around my navel had spread from chest to crotch and around my sides.

               “It could just be bloating,” I told myself. “Just bloating. That’s it…”

               But as I sucked-in, I instantly knew that to be untrue. Sucking-in had grown harder, and I had to let go after a few missed breaths. The belly surged forward, rounder than ever, a stark reminder of my failed diet.

               “It’s not working,” I whispered frantically to myself. “I need to try something new…”

               No more playing around. Soon as first dawn’s light shone through my windows, I would peel my spellbooks open and find magic that would restore me to my youthfully slim form.

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7 hours ago, Mr.Grignard said:

The donut symbolism reminds me of a scene from toradora.

I love it.

 

21A015A3-B214-4295-A7FF-3D80A58F7AF3.jpeg

It’s actually a reference to a description in a weight gain story called The Expansion of Emily — it’s posted here on Curvage!

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2 hours ago, >_< 0_0 said:

На самом деле это отсылка к описанию в рассказе о наборе веса под названием «Расширение Эмили» — оно размещено здесь, на Curvage!

Emily's expansion is a great story! where can i see more of your stories?

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We're back! Time for more goblin shenanagans

Chapter Ten

               “Witch!” a young man only old enough to grow half a beard was calling after me as I made my way down the village’s only street. “Miss Witch!”

               “You can call me Shroom,” I replied instinctively – and instantly regretted it.

               The peasant’s mouth broke into a full-grin filled with rotten teeth. He probably thought I was showing some hint of affection. Meanwhile, all I could think was how much money I could make selling tooth-whitening elixirs.

               “Fancy some truffles?” he held his hands out, both filled with black, sponge-like growths that still had a coating of dirt on them. “Took Nancy out for a walk in the woods and she sniffed them out.”

               “Nancy?” I eyed the truffles like I would any wild mushroom I’d never seen.

               “That be the family hog – she’s mighty good at truffle-sniffing.”

               “Oh… um, have you seen Brian? I had ingredients to purchase.”

               The truffle-man looked dejected and seemed about ready to try another way to gain my attention when I was saved the bother by the baker himself. There he was, standing on the front patio of his tavern with his arms crossed, no doubt soaking as much autumnal sunlight into his skin as he could before winter storms shrouded the land for the rest of the year.

               “How’s my favourite witch faring?” he said confidently. “It’s been too long; what does she desire today?”

               His presumptive words made my cheeks flush hot enough to melt butter – and not because I had any carnal attraction to the man – but they had the desired effect of making truffle-man dip his head in defeat and walk home. The thought that I’d traded one unwelcome suitor for another made me purse my lips, but I would persevere nonetheless. The baker had something I needed.

               So I approached Brian, closing the distance between us till he towered over me from the top step of his wooden patio.

               “Hello,” I immediately chided myself for sounding too meek for being a proper witch. “Um, what I mean is, you are absolutely correct. I came to bargain.”

               “I’d heard,” he smiled, moustache bristling with a wide smile. “What ingredients did you need?”

               “Milk,” I muttered.

               He seemed to find my answer amusing. “Milk? Not a famous ingredient as ingredients go.”

               “Anything is an ingredient if you have the knowledge and skill for it,” I quipped an academy pronoun in reply.

               “Say no more; the cows ‘round back could do with another milking for the day. I assume you’d like it fresh… but have you a way to haul it back? The hike up the mountain is quite long.”

               “I always have a way to haul it back,” I patted my enchanted purse.

               “Rather… I should have asked if you can haul it quick enough to keep it from spoiling.”

               “I have my ways,” I replied. I couldn’t resist weaving a brief cooling spell with a wave of my hand that made the air between us frigid.

               “Well then…” he masked his awe and confusion by jumping off the patio. “Say no more! Come ‘round the tavern and we’ll fill a jug for you.”

 

               Behind the tavern was a row of stables filled with freshly-harvested piles of hay and no small amount of manure. It was by no means a large dwelling, but for the five white cattle living in them, it was spacious enough. The word “white” should be interpreted loosely, for a lifetime outdoors trampling through their own filth had tainted their hides a dusty brown. I suppose it wasn’t their fault; you can’t expect an armless beast to be able to clean itself, but it was grating my nerves being in their midst.

               I was sitting upon a stool, watching Brian bending low under one of his cows teasing her udders for a fresh pail of milk. It looked to be painfully-gruelling work. Had I known of any spell to quicken the process, I’d have cast it immediately, but instead I was stuck watching the whole process aching to return home.

               “My girls had it rough last winter,” Brian gently patted the cow’s hide with his free hand. “You can see the bones of her pelvis.”

               “Indeed,” I shuffled uncomfortably upon my stool.

               “Storms lasted an extra moon cycle ‘fore you came. A harsh season, but nothing we haven’t had before – and the livestock will fatten-up properly with this year’s extra large harvest. We have you to thank for that, Shroom. Quite a knack for growth potion you have; yours was the best batch I’ve ever owned.”

               “Oh…” his words made me remember the soft pooch I was hiding under my winter bundles. “Right. I suppose so.”

               He smiled at me, but could tell I was discomforted, and changed the topic. “But then again, it’s actually normal to see some bone poking from the beef because –” he slapped the cow just hard enough to loose a cloud of brown dust from its hide. “—these are dairy cows. The milking drains them, makes them thinner. It’s the beef cows that get big.”

               He smiled at me again. “Are you hot in all that? It’s not quite winter yet.”

               “I’m quite alright,” I replied stiffly. “Um, thank you.”

               “Well, no matter. This milk should be enough,” he lifted the pail by its slender handle and approached me. “You said you have a jug ready? Does it have a cork to keep it from spilling?”

               “Yes and yes,” I said.

               He nodded, looming over me once again while I remained seated on the stool. “We forgot to discuss price, didn’t we?”

               I blushed. “Well… I brought some herbs down for the milk. Lavender and such… for the smell, that is…”

               “Why don’t we stop inside for a drink to cool you down?”

               “Drink?” I stiffened. “Oh, that? I shouldn’t. It’s just they tend to become several drinks.”

               “Perhaps you can show me that spell again? The one that chilled the air. Does it last long? Long enough to chill my cellar, perhaps?”

               Brian certainly had a keen eye for what could improve his business, and such talk of my field of expertise helped calm my nerves.

               “Very well,” I allowed half my mouth to quiver into a smile. “I do owe you for the milk, after all…”

               “Please,” he clasped my little hand in his, no doubt meaning to assist me to my feet. But I took too long, and with a farmer’s strength, his other hand gripped my waist and he lifted me to my feet.

               I was in utter shock. Here I was, standing inches from his chest as if we were about to dance on the spot, yet we remained unmoving, staring into each other’s eyes lost in the unexpected moment. I could feel his firm fingers holding my waist, feeling its softness beneath my thick layers, and the swell of my belly… it was pressed into him…

               Good gods, what if he realized…?

               He let go.

               “The cellar’s around this next corner,” he pointed. “It’s the best place to keep drinks cooled – though they could be cooler, as I’m sure you know since you enjoy my beer so much.”

               “That’s not quite…” I resisted the urge to cover my blushing face in my hands. “I mean… it’s quite good – too good. It distracts me from getting home soon enough.”

               “How about wine, then? I have a spare keg of it, imported from Narpa Valley.”

               I bit my lip, for I’d developed a taste for wine in my final year at the academy. Narpa Valley happened to be where half our bottles came from.

               “Is it white wine or red?” I asked.

               “Rosé,” Brian replied.

 

               The first thing I remembered was red light shining through my closed eyelids and how uncomfortable it was. Come to think of it, the tree I was leaning against was even more uncomfortable.

               Come to think of it, where was I?

               My eyes flashed open in an instant. Dawn’s light shone through the needles of a forest of fir trees. A pair of squirrels chased each other around an old tree trunk. Mushrooms were scattered across the forest floor.

               “Ohhhh,” I shifted my body and found my back to be aching. “Dawn already? How much did I drink?”

               Sitting-up had me realizing how stuffed I felt. I couldn’t see my belly, but I could definitely feel it pressing hard against my clothes.

               “Not – hic – not good,” I staggered to my feet with a hand on my stuffed middle. “Have to… get home.

               I had to hasten home more than ever before. The milk I’d bought was safely stored in my purse, but the cooling spell within would only work so long. I had to get home and get the cauldron boiling. I needed to pluck some choice ingredients from the garden. I needed to do all this without arousing Gobbo’s suspicions, and I had only one chance to do it, for I was about to brew a new potion – one I’d never brewed before, at least – and at stake was nothing less than my figure and reputation.

               This potion was going to make me slim again.

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Everyone wish Silv a happy birthday!

Chapter Eleven

               Home at last – and not a moment too soon. My drunken slumber in the woods had cost me valuable time for brewing a potion. Worse, I’d slept through breakfast and my stomach was twisting angrily into knots.

               I had a hand on my middle fumbling at the buttons on my stuffy winter’s coat even as I was stepping onto my front porch. Even if it was starting to feel brisk outdoors, it wasn’t enough to keep the layers from feeling uncomfortable. Had I known a way to cast cooling spells on my skin without becoming frostbit, I’d have done so in an instant.

               But shedding my winter layers was apparently the least of my worries, for my dining table was the sight of unacceptable chaos. A ring of flour sacks had been stacked upon it, as if a particularly gigantic chicken had chosen to roost there – except, instead of a fat bird, it was a fat goblin! There, laying on her side like some bloated royal concubine with an armful of muffins, was Gobbo, who had grown quite large and pampered indeed. The curve of her diminutively short hip was an obnoxiously-broad arc jutting skyward as she lay on her side, and the swell of her belly made it pool against my tabletop amidst a thin bed of crumbs.

               Such an outrageous, shameful display!

               “You!” I pointed.

               She turned to face me, and gasped wide enough to loose yet more crumbs from her greedy mouth. “You came back!” her tone was a mix of shock, disbelief, and something else. “You came baaack – oof…”

               At a loss for a proper reaction, I tossed my winter coat at her. “What do you think you’re doing?” I hurried to pull-off my traveller boots so I could toss those as well. “I need that for work!

               The winter’s coat hid Gobbo from sight, but not her frantic thrashing to free herself. “You were gone so long – ow!

               “Git! Git!”

               The second boot missed, for Gobbo had cleared the table with a tremendous leap that had her landing mere feet from the nearest doorway. Her landing was not graceful, for her girth was growing cumbersome, but I couldn’t give chase, regardless. Not when I was standing in my woolie socks… with my bloated gut showing slightly through my dress.

               “I thought you were gone forever…” Gobbo’s voice called from the neighbouring room.

               “Me? Leave my own home? Never,” I called back – and then more softly to myself: “Hopefully nothing important’s broken… I need to get the cauldron boiling…”

 

               Fortunately, Gobbo hadn’t seemed to do anything harmful. It took only a few moments for me to tidy-up after her messes, and her intentions seemed pretty clear: after eating her favourite snacks, it seemed she’d attempted to make some of her own, failed miserably, and resorted to consuming muffins. As for the flour-sack nest, it appeared to be nothing more than that, akin to the “pillow forts” some of my more adventurous classmates had made after exam weeks. Detestable behaviour – but bearable.

               Regardless, I set to brewing my potion in earnest, cleaning the inside of my cauldron to remove all contaminants and ensure the product would be pure, and getting the fireplace roaring with plenty of wood stacked nearby. The water poured into the cauldron was entirely devoid of any speck of dust, and once it began boiling, I ensured it stayed that way without letting it simmer.            Everything had to be precise, for I was about to concoct something I had never attempted nor even heard of before: Milker’s Formula.

               Milker’s Formula… I anxiously bit my lip at the mere thought of it as I continued stirring the cauldron. I’d found the instructions for the obscure potion in the back of one of my predecessor’s spellbooks – which was currently propped on the fireplace mantle with the pages spread wide so I could check and re-check my steps. It was a complex mixture of ingredients as potions go – enough to make a novice alchemy student question if she’d chosen the right field of study, but well within my capabilities. It was the first potion I’d learned outside the academy, and I’d rehearsed the steps again and again before finally setting my hourglass and getting to work. If I botched it, there would be no alchemy master to explain the missteps. Not to mention I’d be drinking it…

               “… a handful of fly artemisia…” I read the instructions again and shrugged as I tossed the spotted-red mushrooms in the boiling froth. “Simple enough… bone-marrow… chicken bones will do… let it sink to the bottom and… three pinches of ground mint leaves.”

               All simple enough, for I’d aptly prepared everything before beginning the brew since I didn’t want to be dashing outside to grab plants from the garden with the cauldron boiling. I stared into it now, water churning constantly with a dozen ingredients mixing within, their magical properties already beginning to make the liquid glow a radiant blue – exactly as the instructions required. It was time to add the final ingredient.

               “And lastly…” I lifted the magically-cooled jar of milk and uncorked it. “A gallon of milk…”

               The broth sizzled and steamed violently the moment the chilled milk touched it. I winced as heated drops sprinkled against my forearms and nearly dropped the jar, but held firm and poured harder still. Short snaps of light shimmered from deep within the cauldron, and steam billowed so furiously it couldn’t fit through the chimney and billowed across the roof. It was as if the potion fancied itself a mighty storm.

               Such chaos would have academy freshmen screaming in fright, but I stoically persevered. I was no freshman. Worse things had happened to my brews, and I knew how to control a rogue reaction. This potion would be concocted – I would be slim once more!

               The last of the milk was added, the bursts of light died away, and I let the fire calm to a crackling simmer. The boiling within the cauldron stopped, its colour shifting from blue to purple, and finally to a dull pink. The Milker’s Formula was complete.

               I stared at my creation nervously as I waited for it to cool enough to drink. To think I was about to drink a potion that would theoretically make me lose weight – theoretically! And at the cost of my dignity as well! I could hardly bear to think about it, but there were no distractions left for me to dwell upon – only the faintly-glowing pink liquid and the power it was about to have on my body.

               I shuddered and hugged myself close. There was no point in avoiding thinking about it – best to prepare myself for the coming experience. The Milker’s Formula was an obscure potion likely invented for midwives. Years of diligent study in the academy and I’d never heard of it, and I could guess why. Soon, I would drink the potion. Within moments, it would seep through my body, soaking into the fattiest parts with its very essence. All too quickly, the nature of my body would be subtly altered from that of a virgin into a new mother, though no child would result. My breasts would… oh, there wasn’t a proper way to say it! They’d fill with milk, and I’d… milk them… like those damned dairy cows Brian was so proud of.

               A dairy cow. I hugged myself all the more tightly at the thought of it. To think that I was reduced to such bestial means to sustain my figure! But Brian’s words from yesterday returned to me: dairy cows were thinner than their beefy kin, for producing milk was laborious and draining. Little had he known that I knew precisely why his cows were so thin! The Milker’s Formula would do so for me as well. It had to.

               And so I banished all self-doubt, dipped the emptied gallon jug into the potion, and drank as much of it as I could stomach. The pink liquid was warm against my lips, and surprisingly smooth in texture – too smooth, for I regretted drinking so much as soon as I paused for breath.

               “Ooh…” I placed the jug down and put a hand on my belly. The jug was half full, but I refused to even look at it, for my discomfort was growing with every breath. The potion was reacting with something in my stomach, enkindling within as if brewing anew. A belch passed my lips, followed quickly by a longer, stronger one that resonated deep within my throat.

               “Ohh…” I groaned my way towards my room. “What’s – urp – happening to me?”

               Some small part of me worried Gobbo was witnessing my discomfort, but it was overwhelmed by the mounting discomfort of my bloated middle, a swelling sense of heat that made my forehead sweat and my mouth pant, and an ominous tingling in my chest.

               “Damn it, how much was I supposed to drink?” I moaned as I stooped before my mirror. Yet I knew better than to ask. There had been no recommended dose, else I’d have seen it in the spellbook, which meant the author omitted the fact due to negligence or blatant sadism. Was this what it felt like to be post-partum? Surely not! New mothers always looked so relieved, content, and perhaps a little tired. I felt none of these things. In fact, quite the opposite: the tingling in my chest had grown more intense, manifesting as a pair of sizzlingly-hot orbs just behind my nipples. The nipples stiffened against the fabric covering them like pin-needles, enough so that I was tempted to rip the very fabric of my dress away to relieve them. It was as if they could feel every breeze and gust of air, even contained as they were. And my body was hot – so, so very hot. The very fat of my body seemed to burn with heat as it transformed in its mysterious mystical way.

               I coughed and found my tongue to be dry as a raisin. Clothes or not, I needed water – a whole pail of it – and turned to stagger my way back to the fireplace, back where I’d left the half-filled jug, fully-intent upon dumping the damn pink poison from it to make a pained visit to the well. I only made it two steps before I screamed hoarsly.

               “Gobbo! What are you doing?

               The goblin finished chugging the remains of the Milker’s Formula to stare back at me with disdain. “What?” she wiped her mouth with her hand. “I’m starving.”

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Oh no! The weight loss potion went haywire! How could this have happened?

Chapter Twelve

               It was best for me to keep my composure in such a dire situation; years of annoying pranks at the academy had taught me that. Remain stoic and serious, and the pranks wouldn’t be fun anymore. It’s what I should be doing now, as I leaned from my bedroom door staring at Gobbo as she licked the last pink drops from her lips holding the empty gallon jug before her little body like a human gripping a barrel.

               But I was wailing helplessly instead.

               “Y-you weren’t supposed to drink that!” I cried.

               “Hah!” Gobbo triumphantly tossed the jug from the table. “That’s what you want me to think! But I’m smart! I only eat what you eat. That’s why you haven’t been able to poison me!”

               “Ohh, this is terrible!” I waved my arms in fright before dodging my body behind the door.

               “You think spicy food will stop me?” her voice carried from the room beyond. “Hah! You wish… hoo… it’s not spicy at all!”

               No doubt, she’d change her tune, and judging from the changes wracking my body, it would be soon. Sweat was dripping from my forehead now, and pooling unpleasantly wherever clothes touched my skin. Blowing air through my mouth provided no relief. I needed water, but to reach the well, I’d have to walk through the house past Gobbo, and that was too much for me to bear. She couldn’t see me in such a state! Now when I was sweating so – and not when something far worse was just beginning to take shape.

               My nipples… if only growing stiff was all I had to worry about! But the unbearable heat welling from beneath them was only growing ever more intense as the Milker’s Formula did its work. And they were sensitive, so terribly so that I needed relief more than I needed water. So I reached back and began undoing the knot that held my smock against my front…

               “You…” Gobbo belched deeply before yelling through the house. “What is this pink stuff? Sauce? You like drinking pink sauce? Well, it tastes bad and I don’t like it!

               At last, my dress tumbled in a heap about my ankles along with the smock. I was standing in the middle of my room wearing nothing but lingerie now, and still I was uncomfortably hot. The mounds of my breasts shone with sweat like smooth river-stones, and heaved with every forced breath. Fierce, blue veins covered them like lightning, tracing their way into the cups of my brazier, funnelling their flow towards nipples unseen. I was suddenly aware of pressure building behind them, and to my horror, I realized the potion was working far faster than I ever could’ve anticipated.

               Eughhhh!” Gobbo groaned, and I could hear her clattering plates and pots in a fit of theatrics. “Stupid pink sauce… why did you make me drink it?”

               “You were never supposed to drink it!” I snapped from my room.

               “You left without making meals and I was starving! Ooh… this is your fault!”

               Such ungratefulness had me burning hot with temper as much as otherwise. To think that it was my fault that stupid goblin drank my potion, and now I was trapped in my room, unable to relieve my dry mouth with water unless I chose to run past the diminutive green beast, naked and embarrassingly chubby.

               Unless…

               “Gobbo…” I grimaced, for my breasts were beginning to swell against their confines. “Listen to me… you need to go to the well and fetch us water.”

               “Water?” she seemed receptive. “Why? Why do you need water?”

               “Because…” I stifled a moan of discomfort. “If you don’t, the pink sauce will burn you to a crisp!”

               “That’s… no! You’re lying! Why would you drink it, then?”

               “Fetch water!” I snapped. “Or you can wait and see for yourself! Use the jug you drained. Take it to the well and top it up – hurry!”

               “No!” I heard her stomp her foot on my table. “You tricked me! You stuck me to a chair and stuffed me with stupid pig meat!”

               “You better fetch that water…” I growled, for my breasts were beginning to bulge from their confines most uncomfortably. “Or you’ll regret it…”

               “Eek!” Gobbo cried suddenly. “What is this? What’s happening?”

               Fetch water!” I barked.

               There was a furious scrambling and clattering just beyond the door, but I paid no mind. To hear her hastening for the well suited me just fine. She could smash clear through the front door for all I cared! Anything to get that jug of water and get some relief!

               I almost regretted sending her away, for there was nothing left to distract me from my own reflection in the mirror. My reflection stared back, sunlight shining against my sweaty skin from the window, all pudgy and quivering. My breasts had grown enormous, each one swelling twice its normal size and bulging outwards in every direction they could squeeze into. Panting, I laid my hands upon them. They were so heavy – heavier than I imagined they could be. They jiggled and sloshed against each other, like orbs floating in rapids, or jugs of water jostling in a bag.

               Or jugs of milk…

               A cool trickle made its way down my breasts. I could see it soaking my brazier, coalescing on the lower rim, forming little white drops that dripped down my front. I couldn’t help but moan. I was feeling relief, but at what cost – and how long was this supposed to go on?

               “Where’s that water?” I yelled.

               There was no answer.

               “Gobbo? Where’s the water?”

               I peeked through the door’s crack. A shattered plate was under the table, but there was no sign of the goblin. The jug, however, was also missing.

               “Where is that rascal?” I grumbled.

               I didn’t want to make too much noise. With cool milk trickling down my hot belly in rivulets, I peeked through my window. I could see the well if I pressed my cheek against the frame, and did so. The jug was resting upon the well’s edge, and the bucket hadn’t even been lowered.

               “Enough of this,” I grumbled. “Can’t wait. I need water.”

               So I stormed outside in nothing but my lingerie and stockings, half-soaked in milk as my breasts jostled against my chest like wine sacks. Of all the times that goblin had chosen to make herself scarce, this was the only time I wished she hadn’t. The bucket lay ready by the side of the well, fastened by a rope that trailed around the cobblestone ringing the well. I tossed it in – and heard a thunk.

               “Ow!” a little voice squeaked.

               “Gobbo!” I leaned over the well’s side and tried to see through the darkness. “Why are you down there?”

               “It burns! It burns!

               “That’s why I told you to fetch water!”

               “I can’t burn to a crisp if I’m down here!”

               “Gobbo, you’re not going to burn to a crisp.”

               “But you said –”

               “Unless you don’t get out of there so I can get the damn water!”

               “Wah, don’t do it! I’m stuck!”

               “Get in the bucket already!”

               Some sloshing could be heard, and the rope went taut against my wrists. I began to heave.

               “This water better be good,” I grumbled to myself.

               Length by length, the bucket came out of the well. Resting inside it with her chubby thighs wedged against its edges was Gobbo, thoroughly soaked with water and milk. Her previously unremarkable chest had swelled as much as mine had, and her breasts had grown as big as fists (my fists, not hers). Unfortunately, they were leaking milk everywhere, which flowed in white wisps all through my precious well-water, leaving it tainted and dirty.

               She got one look at my half-naked body and gasped with horror. “Witch!” she screamed and kicked her stubby legs. “Sorceress! You’ve poisoned us!”

               “Get your fat rump out of my bucket!” I screamed back with a hand over myself.

               “It’s stuck! I’m stuck!”

               A hearty kick of the bucket had the goblin freed with a pop and a smack. The pain on my naked foot almost made me regret my outburst, but it had the desired effect. I had my bucket back, and Gobbo was running away as fast as her chafing thighs could carry her – straight back into my house.

               “That foolish, taste-testing little thief,” I grumbled as I tossed the bucket back into the well. “This is all her fault…”

               Soon as I doused myself in water and had a drink, I would think of a way to gain vengeance.

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