Undertaker33
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Trading Sweat for a Bountiful Harvest (NSFW Edit)
🕑 Added 2020-01-03 09:31:01 +0000 UTC
Ichtaca slowly climbed the first of the steep steps of the temple. In the dark light of the moon, the freshly carved rock glimmered and cast off the light of the stars. The man gulped, and felt his hand go worryingly to the maquahuitl he carried strapped to his waist. His traced his fingers over obsidian teeth and oiled wood, though he was watchful of his fingers lest his gentle stroke of the razor-sharp blade cause him to lose one.
As he ascended, he looked back upon the jungle. He was further than he had expected and could not place where his village might lay even in the bright light of the moon. He tried to make out any signs of smoke or fire, but nothing could be seen through the dense jungle.
He turned back, looked up the walk of the temple, and gulped.
“Alright, Ichtaca,” he said to himself, “don’t get intimidated. You’re just asking to speak with a goddess is all. Nothing to worry about.”
He didn’t convince himself, but he forced his feet forward all the same. When he was a quarter of the way up the steps, he realized that the only noise he could hear was the sound of his sandals as he climbed the pyramid steps. He turned back, looking into the jungle. It was completely silent from up here.
His unease grew, and he wondered if maybe this was one of Quetzalcoatl’s tricks. Maybe she didn’t like insects either, he thought to himself, ideally scratching a bug bite on his exposed chest.
“Yes. The serpent of the sky is troubled by puny insects,” he cursed at himself beneath his breath, forcing his feet forwards once more. “Would you get ahold of yourself?”
The light from the moon seemed to grow even brighter while he climbed. He’d nearly reached the summit when he granted himself the need to rest. A slight part of him was worried that Quetzalcoatl might take offense to him taking a seat upon her stairway, but he reasoned that she’d most likely want him to be ready for their talk, and he had come a long way away in just one day.
Ichtaca again scanned the horizon, looking for his village. Finally, he thought he might see it in the pale moon light by picking out the black clump of death earth where their farms were attempting to grow. His own farm was nearest to the temple, and he thought he might be able to pick out his barren berry bushes when a sound that every Aztec male had been taught to fear came crawling forth from the darkness of night.
He spun from his seat, clamoring for the wooden hilt of his maquahuitl. He pulled it free just as the jaguar came over the crest of the stone steps, a deep vibrating growl passing through its lips. Ichtaca readied himself, setting his backfoot into the stone and bringing the blade to bear.
Then, he saw the golden circlet which adorned the jaguars scalp. A violet jewel caught the light of the moon, brilliant amethyst twinkling down to the frightened farmer. The jaguar then purred, “Oh? You’re not quite who we were expecting.”
Ichtaca’s eyes widened. Sweat began to pour down from his brow, and he dropped to the stone quick enough to bruise his knees. “My deepest sorrow, I wish your pardon. I should not have drawn my blade so quickly.”
There was a light sound of padded feet, and he sensed the jaguar coming closer. “You should not have drawn your blade, at all,” she said in a feminine tone.
There was a sudden motion to Ichtaca’s left, and another jaguar pounced lightly from the sheer brick of the stone onto his weapon. He kept his eyes to the steps beneath him, not daring to look as the creature knocked away his only protection. “I-I am sorry. I was chosen to come and beg favor of the Quetzalcoatl.”
“We know why you’re here,” the first jaguar said. “We just expected someone a little bit… manlier.”
Ichtaca felt his face pale even further. He was a farmer, not a warrior. He put up with this stuff enough from the other villagers, was he now really hearing this from the Quetzalcoatl’s pet?
He cleared his throat. “I-I’m sorry if you find me…”
“Look at him,” the other jaguar spoke, also with a womanly voice. “He’s skinnier than all of the others.”
“And without any piercings at all,” the first chided.
Ichtaca’s dark face heated. “I-I haven’t marked myself yet. I’ve only just… turned… twenty.”
“Twenty years old, and without any piercings?” the second jaguar asked.
“He hasn’t yet taken a mate,” the first informed.
Ichtaca was ready to throw himself down the stone steps when the order came.
“Rise, man-child,” they commanded in unison.
Ichtaca hesitated, thinking to not acknowledge the title, but the purring of the jaguars put the primal beast inside at odds. He rose onto his knees and looked to the steps above.
The pair of jaguars sat on their haunches at either side of the top step, looking down upon him with regal judgment. One cat, the one with the amethyst circlet, had dark eyes of sparkling green. The other wore a necklace of emeralds, and she had a disturbing iris of purple and yellow. They both radiated a commanding energy from their place on top of the world.
“We’ve been expecting someone, but we had thought they would surely send your chieftain,” one said.
“Or at least a warrior,” the other filled in.
“While you,” the first resumed, “have a slight body, no piercings, and hardly any markings inked into your skin.”
Ichtaca cleared his throat, feeling himself under siege. “I am here to ask for favor in farming. I own my own farm and harvest the fruits of my own labors to share with the village. I volunteered, and the chieftain chose me. The decision for me not to take a mate is mine alone, as none of our women have attracted me to them yet.”
That seemed to give the jaguars pause. They continued to stare at him with their odd colored eyes for a time before the purple eyed one simply turned about and walked away.
“Rise, farm boy,” the emerald-eyed jaguar commanded.
Ichtaca did as he was told. He mounted the steps, feeling unease as the jaguar rose backwards and began to confidently walk towards the open mouth of the temple. Ahead, the other jaguar just reached the entrance, and a torch sprung to life.
“We are the Quetzalcoatl’s priestesses,” the jaguar informed. “We have been expecting one of you for some time, as our lady has been in a deep meditative state for three years now.”
Ichtaca hesitated. “Meditation?” he asked. Then, to himself, “That must be why our harvests have been so small lately, despite our routine sacrifices.”
“She has received them, but not in the capacity that you would think,” the jaguar stepped into the mouth of the tunnel, and Ichtaca followed into the musty torchlit hall. They began to descend into the pyramid.
“So, what should I do?” Ichtaca asked.
The jaguar’s emerald eyes sparkled. “Wake her up, of course.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs, which opened out into a great chamber. Darkness covered most of it, though Ichtaca felt the immensity of the void just beyond his sight. The air was dank, here. Heavy, and yet giving a tremendous reverberation through each footfall. “Where is she, then?” he asked.
The jaguar stopped at the fringe of the darkness. It sat backwards, tail ideally flicking across the ground. “She is here.”
Ichtaca looked from the jaguar into the overbearing darkness beyond. He could make out nothing this deep under the rocks. He looked fretfully at one of the nearby torches.
“I would suggest a softer touch,” the jaguar said, without looking at him. “Her mind is elsewhere. It would be safer for you to not wave fire beneath her nose.”
Ichtaca looked again to the darkness. He swallowed. He knew many men who had walked out into the jungle, into darkness such as this, and who had never returned.
The Quetzalcoatl is a benevolent goddess, he reminded himself. She is the reason for our harvest and loves to make things grow. She’d not harm him.
“I wish you fortune, man child,” the jaguar purred.
He ignored her and stepped forwards, past the shadows, and into darkness. As he moved, he could hear nothing save for his footfalls while the light of the torch faded. He counted his steps in his head, wondering if he could run back, and with each addition having less faith. He looked over his shoulder, hoping for just a glimpse of the light.
Behind him, was a mass of darkness only faintly illuminated over its rounded top, nearly twice as tall as he. Ichtaca could make out the faintest dull red of immense feathers springing from the surface of the mass.
The Quetzalcoatl, the great feathered serpent, had surrounded him without making a single sound.
Primal terror sparked within Ichtaca, and he felt his trembling knees nearly break beneath him. Slowly, he bent himself down to kneel before her, and prepared to beg for his life.
A noise from behind him silenced the words in his throat, and he slowly turned. Beholden, beneath a single pillar of sudden moonlight, the body of a girl laid atop of a stone altar. On either side of the altar, two jaguars had been carved straight from gold, and stood ready to pounce on any who should dare draw nearer. These held Ichtaca’s eyes as he slowly found his feet and began to come to the altar.
The girl made another noise, drawing his gaze. His mouth dropped open, and he came to a frozen halt.
Upon the pillar was no girl. It was a woman, with skin as light as the moon and twice as curvaceous. Her stomach and arms were completely bare, with only a light white fabric covering her groin and a green and red neck piece, decorated with glittering gold, that dropped down her body and covered the top and the nipples of her vast breasts.
She shifted upon the table, laying on a bed of her own long and wavy hair. Colors danced through each strand as she moved, mixing pure gold with the light blue of the open waters. Ichtaca knew that, before him, lay the true sleeping body of the Quetzalcoatl.
He approached the altar, unable to take his eyes from her fair beauty. She was softer than he had imagined, but then, he’d imagined a feathered serpent. Around each of her thighs she wore a golden circlet, wherein glittering jewels were affixed. They looked tight on her, with supple pink flesh straining each of them.
He reached the foot of the altar and crossed his arms over himself, unsure of what to do next. The goddess shifted once more on the table, her long eyelashes shut over large eyes, and her mouth fell open to reveal a frighteningly human tongue. She breathed deeply inwards, inflating her chest outwards, and for the first time Ichtaca felt himself breaking into a sweat about the look of a woman. Truly, she was without compare. Breasts as thick as melons, and hips that resembled a fattened pear. His mind turned inwards, onto his farm, and upon his own dark secrets.
He advanced upon the altar, thoughts driven to action, and reached the final step before falling downward upon his knees.
“Quetzalcoatl,” he said aloud, “I beg you to rise from your slumber.”
There was an effeminate groan from before him on the altar, and he lifted his arms flat out before returning to the ground. As he looked, he saw the goddess had turned upon her side, and was lightly snoozing out of her mouth.
“Quetzalcoatl,” he repeated, “I beg you to rise from your slumber.”
He rose again in his placating bow, and saw the goddesses face scrunch ever so slightly. He bent down once more, and repeated again.
“Quetzalcoatl, I beg you to rise from your slumber.”
This time, when he rose up, he was frozen in place by the slowly opening eyes of the Quetzalcoatl. One eye, green as the forest, the other as dark and mysterious as the moon. The jewels that her jaguars carried were almost flat in comparison to the sheer overwhelming intensity of the eyes of the Quetzalcoatl while she slowly blinked herself to consciousness.
Her eyes came upon Ichtaca and he slammed himself to the ground, rising up before pushing down even faster in praise. He said nothing as he rushed through each bow.
When the goddess spoke, it was as if the entire chamber were reverberating her voice all at once. Such power was in her that it made Ichtaca feel as they were gripping him and shaking him, yet her voice was as light as the feathers she wore. “Shouta? Izzat you?” she asked.
Ichtaca didn’t think to answer her, so hung upon the sound of her words he was. He bent down again and again, and finally managed to repeat once more, “Quetzalcoatl, I beg you to rise from your slumber.”
“Oh,” she said, moaning the word. “Awe, it was just getting fun, too.” When he rose next, Ichtaca was again held by the visage of the goddesses eyes, and the pure abundance of her body as she raised her arms behind her and stretched through a sleepy yawn. With her opened mouth, Ichtaca heard the immense sound of moving stone, and was suddenly cast into complete and utter darkness.
He quavered and heard the thundering noise as the feathered serpent spun round all sides of him. Suddenly, the brilliant light of the sun seemed to flare to life, and the chamber was alit entirely from its center.
Ichtaca spun wildly around. The chamber was only a fraction of the size he had thought it was, maybe a few hundred feet in size, though the high roof was still no less impressive. He saw the retreating form of the jaguars as they skipped up the stairs and returned his eyes to the altar.
A veritable feast sat upon where the goddess had lay. He recognized different meats, cooked or seared or some even raw, as well as plate after plate of vegetable and juicy fruits. It was when he saw the specific pot, a personal item he knew had been filled with blueberries before being shattered in sacrifice, that he knew what he was seeing.
“Hey, konichiwa,” said a gentle but firm voice from behind him.
He turned around and caught a face full of breast. He’d hit the soft mountain with enough force to nearly knock himself out, and fell to the ground, much to the clear enjoyment of the woman standing over him. He looked up towards the Quetzalcoatl, past her long smooth legs, and up into her laughing expression. He felt entirely bewildered.
She opened her eyes, affixing him with her jeweled gaze. “Are you gonna spend all night on your knees?” she asked him.
He felt himself grow quickly heated, his dark colored cheeks darkening still and made to pull himself to his feet. “Q-quetzalcoatl,” he began.
She waved a hand under her nose. “Oh, come on,” she said dismissively. “I finally felt like I’d ditched that old lady name, and now I’m being called it within a few minutes of being back?” she asked.
Ichtaca blinked at her in pure confusion.
This seemed to please her even further, as her grin pulled into a smirk. “Call me Lucoa,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Ichtaca looked down at her hand, bewildered.
She leaned her head backward. “Ahh, I forgot. Ancient Aztec.” She raised her hand, up and down. “You reach out and take my hand, and we shake. It’s how you introduce yourself in a couple thousand years.”
Ichtaca blinked. He opened his mouth, but the Quetzalcoatl cut him off.
“Up! No,” she reached up and tapped a pointed finger to his shoulder. “No speaking until you shake.”
He blinked again, looked down at her hand, and slowly raised his hand to hers.
She took it, her grip firm and yet overwhelmingly gentle. “There ya go,” she praised with a sparkling grin. “Now, what’s your name?”
“Ichtaca…” he replied numbly.
“Oho?” the Quetzalcoatl said, raising a hand to her lips. “Ichtaca meaning ‘secret’? Is your name a secret, or are you hiding something else?”
Ichtaca stammered. “I-Ichtaca is my name. I don’t… have any secrets…” then, after a moment, he added, “Quetzalcoatl.”
The beautiful woman’s expression soured, her grip turning firmer. “Oh, come on. I already said, call me Lucoa!”
“Y-yes, Quet… Lucoa,” Ichtaca replied.
She smiled again. “There, that’s better.” She turned to the altar, eyes still closed, though obviously beholding the feast that awaited her. Her face dropped in horror. “What?! Oh no, how long was I out?!” she asked.
Ichtaca’s eyes shifted uncomfortably, looking for the jaguars as she hurried over to the altar.
“There’s gotta be one… two… three… Oh no, you little guys must be starving! Three harvest have gone by, and I haven’t helped out at all!” Lucoa fretted over the supplies on the table. “Oh, man. Tohru’s gonna make so much fun of me in… wait, is she born yet?” As if on a dime, Lucoa straightened up, turning from fretting to thoughtful and causing her fat breasts to strain against the sudden momentum. “Man, this time travel stuff always bugged me so much. How can I share consciousness with future me, and still also be me me?” She turned on her heels, and began to pace. “Wait, I’ve worked this out before. Future me can reach backwards, and past me can reach forwards, so that means all mes are me me.”
“E-excuse me,” Ichtaca spoke up.
Lucoa twisted, regarding him as if she’d completely forgotten he was there. Then, she snapped her fingers. “Right! First, figuring out how to fix…” she was interrupted, this time by the bodacious growling of her stomach. It visibly gurgled, sending vibrations throughout her soft body. She snapped her fingers again. “Right! First, breakfast!”
She turned, to the altar, making her way to a stone chair that had appeared out of nowhere at the head of the table. She looked over her shoulder.
“Well? Are you gonna join me for breakfast?” she asked Ichtaca.
Ichtaca hesitated before quickly stepping forward. It was exceptionally rude to refuse a woman offering food. He looked round the table, spotting a chair that had simply appeared next to where the goddess now sat.
As he made his way to the seat, he felt the Quetzal… He felt Lucoa’s eyes on him though he was certain that they were still shut. It created a very awkward sensation, and he found himself fretting over his appearance. His mind replayed the jaguars’ judgment of him, and he bit his lip.
“Yes, this looks fantastic. I haven’t eaten all… umm…” she paused tilting back in her chair. Her eyes opened and she scanned over the feast. “Well, I haven’t had any of this stuff in a while. I’ll be honest, most of what I had been eating was a lot of processed food. Oh, man. You guys don’t even use sugar on your bread here.”
Ichtaca was immensely out of his depth. He knew foods, but only what was grown from the ground. He remembered his barren lands and cleared his throat, intent on speaking up.
“And awe, you guys don’t have ice cream yet, or pies,” Lucoa went on, counting off on her fingers. She hummed, “Do you know what pancakes are, little guy?”
The words ‘man-child’ flickered across Ichtaca’s mind. He felt his cheeks darken, caught off guard. “I-I’m not little, goddess,” he said. “I do not know what pancakes are.”
“Hmmmm?” Lucoa tilted her head. “You’re not? How old are you?”
“I am twenty, goddess Lucoa,” Ichtaca replied.
“Awe,” Lucoa gushed. “That’s so cute!” Then, her eyes opened, and Ichtaca felt her gaze as if she’d reached out and firmly grasped him by the brain. “Do you want to know how old I am?” she asked.
Ichtaca couldn’t reply. His mouth had stopped working as his mind tried to figure out how not to be squished inside of his own skull. It took him a lot of energy to simply manage, “No.”
Lucoa closed her eyes and clapped her hands, jostling her flabby chest. “There you go!” she praised. “You don’t ever wanna ask a dragon her age. It’s a lot like asking her her weight!”
Ichtaca’s neck snapped forwards, removing the chance of eye contact before bending forwards onto the table, breathing deeply. It was as if someone had poured cold water through his head, he had a sudden ache that throbbed at his temples. What the hell had she just done to him?
“But,” Lucoa said, measuring out the word, “I have the impression you might want the answer to that second question…”
Ichtaca sat up straight, and felt his heart begin to thump. He could see her out of the corner of his eyes, could see the easy smile.
“You do have your own secrets, don’t you?” she asked.
Ichtaca coughed, leaving his eyes on the food. For the thousandth time, he cursed his inner oddity, knew the reasons he never had found the women of his tribe attractive or had tried to take a wife.
“Well,” Lucoa said cheerily, “I think we should have something to eat, first. Then, we can talk about why you’re here.” Her voice changed, turning into a lecherous purr, “And then, maybe why you are here.”
Ichtaca was sweating again. The goddess snapped her finger, and a mist of purple light rose above the table. It covered it entirely, and he could see golden glyphs illuminate beneath before fading away. Once the mist cleared, it revealed that the table had been changed.
Upon his plate, Ichtaca beheld some new and strange form of bread that seemed to have been mixed with dark fruits. He realized that the fruits were his own sacrificed blueberries, transformed to be larger and plumper than he’d remembered. Each one was perfectly round, and heavy with juice.
His eyes went from his plate to Lucoa. Her eyes glazed over him, and she nodded her head before reaching for a wooden knife. “You know,” she lazily intoned, cutting into her fluffy pancakes, “being a goddess is a lotta work sometimes.”
Ichtaca held himself from asking how sleeping was hard work, but only out of fear.
She stabbed the fluffy dough with her fork, taking it into her mouth. A droplet of blueberry juice dipped onto her feathered tunic, staining one of her green feathers blue. “Looking after all of you gets really bothersome. Having to remember everyone’s names, their favorite foods, it’s why I think I like to look after one little guy instead of just whole civilizations.”
Ichtaca could not help but watch her as she chewed her food. The way she did it was truly enrapturing, slipping each bite of the foreign dish past her lovely fair lips. He couldn’t stop his gaze from flickering to her partially exposed breasts, which were so burdened with soft, pillowy flesh that they sat on the table while she leaned forward to eat. He did his best to emulate her, cutting free and eating of the sacrifice. Yet, somehow, he tasted nothing inside of his mouth.
Lucoa opened her purple eye, held him with her odd iris. “Don’tcha think?”
He found himself nodding. “I… I sort of keep to myself, back at the village.”
“I know,” Lucoa said, winking. She made an elongated noise before taking her next bite. “It’s guys like you who have always been drawn to my house.”
Ichtaca mulled that over. “Like… me?” he asked.
“Mhmm!” Lucoa said. She pulled a slab of meat from a side plate, some finely cooked pork that she began to chew the fat on. “Sometimes it’s girls,” she said between bites, “but that’s still uncommon. At least, it will be till…” she perked her lips, “a thousand years?” She puzzled, blueberry juice dripping from the next bite down onto her breasts. They wobbled, pulled downward while she leaned forward for another bite. Ichtaca sweated, watching the darkness drip down her skin. “I can’t remember, hey have you guys come up with witches and wizards yet?”
Ichtaca’s neck made an audible crack, looking up into her closed eyes. “I-I don’t think so,” he said.
“Yeah, not for at least a couple hundred years then,” Lucoa said happily before chomping down again. “Mhmm, your blueberries are so good.”
He felt his cheeks again darken. “You mentioned others like me?” he asked, deflecting.
“Mhmm, you always end up here,” Lucoa said. “It’s cause you and them all share something in common with me.”
“What’s that?” he puzzled.
Lucoa opened her eyes, and again he felt himself in her grasp. It was different this time, not holding him tightly. It was almost soothingly, comfortable. “Because,” she said, “we both love to watch things grow.”
He felt like he should be panicking, denying or deflecting her allusion. Instead, he found himself grinning nervously. “You… don’t mean agriculture, do you?”
Lucoa laughed, a musical sound like the singing of so many jungle birds as it reverberated throughout the ginormous room. “It always amazes me, the will humans have. Even other dragons would be hard pressed to encompass the power I’m exuding to you right now. And you still have the energy to be cute.” Lucoa dipped another slice of her bread into the dark berry juices. “No,” she said, sliding her fork forwards to him. “I don’t mean agriculture.”
Ichtaca opened his mouth. The piece Lucoa fed to him was astonishing in taste. So refined, evenly baked, he could taste so much more than simply flour in the bread. There was eggs, and sugar, piles of sugar, all sweetened up by his cultivated blueberries.
He’d closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the taste, but opened them to find the altar had been cleaned. Instead, now Lucoa sat astride it, crossing her legs before herself. She grinned. “So,” she said, “never kissed a girl, huh?”
Ichtaca’s mouth was still salivating from the delicious bite of her plate. He left his mouth open, and drool trickled out as his eyes roved her body. They openly fell on Lucoa’s middle, where a slight roll of pudge had formed near her navel with how she sat upon the table. He said nothing.
She laughed. “Or, are there just not any girls that are fat enough for ya?”
He felt himself stiffening before her blunt questioning. His mind instantly turned to denial. “N-no, it’s not… I don’t…”
Lucoa rocked her head back in laughter. Her tight chest rolled upwards before flopping back against her stomach loud enough to make a soft, dull, impact sound that rocked through Ichtaca. “You guys are always so cute,” she giggled, looking back down to him.
A heavy blush had flared over his cheeks. He looked downwards at the table, feeling shame.
“Hey,” the goddess said, reaching outwards with one of her feet. She poked Ichtaca in the shoulder with her toes, making him look at her again. “It’s okay,” she said, waving a hand. “Everyone’s different. I could tell from the moment I saw you checking me out, looking in your head just proved it.”
Nervously, Ichtaca chewed on his lip. “I… I have never kissed a woman,” he admitted. “It’s hard to find a woman that’s…” he paused, unsure of where to go with it.
Lucoa hummed. “I’m sure that this form is the first time you’ve ever seen a girl with white skin, yeah?” she asked.
He looked up to her, eyes glazing up her long, round, thighs. “Yes.”
Lucoa shifted in her seat, raising a hand to her cheek. “This is always my favorite part,” she whispered conspiratorially.
His eyebrows furrowed.
Lucoa unraveled her legs, leaning them to the side. He could see a small trail of blue where a bit of juice had struck her in the tummy, and another in the thigh, making the curves look even fuller. “If you’re here to ask me a favor,” she said, placing a hand on her waist, “then doesn’t that mean I get to ask you for one as well?”
Lucoa then raised her right hand to her nose and tapped it. “Sometimes, to help you guys out means I have to grow a little bit too, you know?”
The man blinked at her, feeling confused. “You… umm… I apologize, I do not understand.”
Lucoa bobbed her head. “Normally when I interact with your people, I have to change my appearance. Some of you don’t quite like how I look right now.”
The farmer balked at this. “B-but you are so beautiful,” he said, gesturing to her body. “Your hair shimmers like the freshness of spring waters flowing into a fresh green growth and to your scalp as Summer’s harvest. And your skin is as lovely as the shining of the moonlit night.”
Lucoa beamed. “It’s a special appearance.” She raised a finger to her nose, tapping it before winking. “It’s something I have grown really fond of, but most people around here get really uncomfortable when they see me like this!”
He shifted, building to the question. After a moment, he asked “Can you change your appearance at will?”
Lucoa nodded, and slowly, a shift began to appear over the girl. The droplets of blueberry juice seemed to shimmer on her skin, before slowly swirling outwards. Her feathers began to change, the green fringes turning into a bright cerulean, while the marks on her skin spun outwards into a deeper, darker blue. The coloring on her chest, on her stomach, overpowered her pale white, and her skin shimmered in the torchlight. Then, her face began to change, starting at her luscious pink lips, which were dipped into violet before her cheeks took up the color.
The change was overwhelming, like the wash of the sea, and Ichtaca could feel his mouth hanging open. Lucoa opened her eyes, looking massively pleased with herself.
She hummed at his expression, leaning her elbow on the table and cupping her transforming cheek. “You seemed more pleased with this form than I’d expected.”
“Y-you’re… How did you… I never expected…” Ichtaca couldn’t find the words.
“Never expected?” Lucoa laughed, closing her eyes and waving a hand in front of her face. “This is the skin… color… that I…” her words slowed down, her hand coming to rest just before her eyes. They opened, and she watched as the last trails of white vanished beneath the blue wave. “Huh…”
He waited. Lucoa’s head swiveled, and she looked down at the rest of her now blue body, looking confused. Then, she turned back to him.
Her eyes flashed. “Oh, uhh, yeah!” she said, twisting around. She leaned upon a knee before standing up on the altar. “Yes, it’s… uhh, glamorous, right?” she said, putting a hand behind her head. Her blue breasts wobbled with tense laughter.
Ichtaca found himself nodding. “Yes, but…”
There was a deep, loud, squelching sound that emanated from the goddess. Lucoa’s hands went to her sapphire middle, which trembled underneath her touch. “Oooh,” she moaned, before her bravado returned. “Um, yes! But this is something I’ve never…” her tummy rumbled again, and her expression briefly faltered. “Ohoo, that I’ve never showed anyone.”
“Ohhh,” Ichtaca cooed, nodding. “I thank you for showing me your immense power, goddess.”
“Mhmm!” she said, both hands pushing inward on her middle. “It’s just like I was planning.” Louder now, the slosh that emanated from Lucoa seemed to shake through her entire body. Her expression tightened, before cracking into a half-smile. “Yup… totally… ughh,” she grunted, and Ichtaca watched in total fascination as her belly began to push outwards against her hands.
Lucoa’s stomach was gurgling nonstop now, filling around each of the woman’s blue fingers. It surrounded them, spread them apart, slowly and steadily creeping forth, as unyielding as the wave of blue that preceded it. Her hands seemed to redouble their effort, shoving inwards and jostling her growing belly, but it continued from within, unabated.
The woman laughed. “Yep! This is… uhh, this is a test!” she said. She twisted, multicolored hair spinning around her with a glistening sheen, making her body look only darker and fuller. She put her weight onto her right foot and leaned her hand on her hip with another on her swelling tummy, posing.
Ichtaca could scarcely take his eyes off her stomach. He wanted to reach out, to touch and feel her growing heavier, fatter. Her blue skin was glistening in the firelight, shining before Ichtaca realized that Lucoa was now sweating heavily. “A test?”
“Mhmm!” Lucoa said shrilly. Her smile was too broad, and it didn’t meet her eyes. “I made myself blue, and am… umm, I’m filling with… juice?” Her waist trembled for a moment, and Lucoa briefly lost her balance as her ass suddenly filled outward. She nearly tumbled, to the stone while the golden circlets round her thighs shattered, jewels pinging off the altar at dangerous speeds. She managed to catch herself, arms spinning madly before coming around to squeeze her butt in what looked like shock. “Oh, my, it is juice…”
“You… you’re turning yourself into a blueberry,” Ichtaca whispered.
Lucoa’s expression kicked backward into an elongated groan, her tummy quenching and vibrating again while her hands came forward. They were suddenly caught beneath her chest as her breasts surged forwards, trapping them on top of her belly. She strained awkwardly, flopping her meaty chest and pulling her arms free. Her hand cupped her right boob, lardy flesh spilled around her fingers growing faster still. The dark blue fringe of her areolas were exposed beneath her feathered chest piece. She talked fast, looking up to the ceiling “I’ve done this on purpose, because you… uhh,”
She shifted her weight, her legs growing rounder and sagging with their growing burden as Lucoa transformed into an immense blue butterball. Her belly had become so large that it sagged down past her thighs, now, yet she was still growing fatter. Her arms were being pulled backwards, unable to reach all the way to her stomach now.
Her biceps splashed forth, her shoulders beginning to slope as her body grew heavier, rounding out. Even her face seemed to fill up with fat, her cheeks turning puffy and her chin tucking backwards into her arched shoulders. Her neck swiveled, and with fussy fingers that were fatter than sausages, she groped her own chest, pulling free several feathers as she ballooned. Their grip lost, her hands flapped ideally, trying to reach around her breasts, but unable as they were pulled inwards. Her voice came out deeper, now, huskily passing through her plump lips, “C-c-cause, umm… I did it…”
Slowly, Lucoa’s head disappeared, blocked from view by her massive chest and rising belly. She continued to accumulate, and what remained of her legs disappeared beneath as an overwhelming surge of juice settling upon her.
Finally, the sound of gurgling ceased. He could hear her voice only ideally as he numbly rose from his chair, looking upon Lucoa’s chosen blueberry form. The curve of her belly seemed boundless, save for the deep indentation of her now massive navel. Immeasurable in weight, she seemed to throb outwards twice before Ichtaca noticed her hands on either side, bouncing up and down and heard the clamor of Lucoa groaning from atop herself.
Without thinking, Ichtaca mounted the altar. He came upon Lucoa’s side, her long wavy hair perfectly cupping her now curved back. Her eyes bent down at herself, looking chuffed, before noticing his sudden appearance. He could see her strain to twist her neck, but only seemed able to barely turn.
“Oh! Good, you’re… you’re still here,” Lucoa said, laughing tensely.
“Why did you do this…” Ichtaca marveled. He reached outward and felt Lucoa’s side. His hand cupped her warm body, and he could feel the tides of juice inside of the girl. Her skin felt tight yet bent exactly right to the touch of his hand.
Lucoa muttered for a moment, her body dipping from side to side. “Um… because, it was… it’s a test, yeah?” she said, grinning sheepishly.
He twisted his head, looking at the goddess’s body, his hand coming up the curve of her belly and then round the exposed side of her breast. He could feeling the height of his breathing, the audible beat of his heart.
“I wanted to test… Oh!” Lucoa bolted upright, causing her groin to shake and make a wet impact on the floor. “It’s because of your harvest!!”
Ichtaca tore his eyes away from her body, looked into Lucoa’s self-satisfied expression. “My harvest?”
She nodded, chin bouncing thrice. “Mhmm! I transformed myself into this uhh…” she broke, looking into her cleavage. “Blueberry, right. Cause I’m gonna help your village grow fertile fruit for the harvest!”
He looked from her, down to her mammoth sized azure mammaries. “But…” he shook his head in confusion, “what does that-”
“Are you questioning the magical powers of a goddess?” Lucoa huffed. She pouted. “I suppose you think I transformed myself into this by accident, do you?”
Again, he peered at her body. “I can’t… No, I don’t think you would.”
A deep purple blush colored her lips. “Well, a goddess like me doesn’t ever slip up.” She turned her head, grumbling, “Just because you grow delicious blueberries doesn’t mean you can distract me with breakfast!”
“I… I’m confused,” Ichtaca admitted.
“Well… good!” Lucoa said. “Now, are you gonna help me or not?”
Ichtaca peered at her.
Her belly sloshed several times as she tried to move. “I can’t cast any magic like this,” she complained. “Listen, if you help me out, I’ll… I’ll make sure your harvest is super dang great, okay?” she asked.
“How am I… what I am to do to help you?” he asked.
Lucoa’s eyes opened, and he felt her gaze pull him closer. “You’re gonna have to juice me,” she ordered, her entire face discolored by her violet blush.
******************************************************************************BEGIN PRIVATE SECTION
“J-juice you?!” he stammered, looking back to her body.
“Well yeah,” she huffed. “I can’t cast magic, which means I can’t change back. You’ll need to get the juice out of me first.”
He felt his spine quiver before he bent over, gently poking her body. He could feel the juice inside pushing back. “Well…” he paused, “how am I supposed to do that?”
Lucoa said nothing for a moment, then bit her lip. “Okay,” she said, “don’t freak out, okay?”
Ichtaca looked into her eyes. He felt like he was about to freak out.
“Because,” Lucoa went on, “I know how… inexperienced guys…” she grimaced, but went on, “are sometimes intimidated by their…”
Ichtaca had felt his gaze spreading wider, felt his own cheeks heating up. He was called back by her sudden shout.
“No! Hey, I said don’t freak out!” Lucoa grunted, seemingly trying to shift herself. It sent a large bellowing gurgle through her tummy. “Oho, noo,” she moaned. “Come on, how does that even work?!”
Her tummy began to stiffen once more, and Ichtaca found himself in front of her, trying to brace it as it began to swell further.
Lucoa moaned as she blew up even more. Ichtaca’s hands tried to push her back inward, to hold her steady, but he only ended up slowly pushing Lucoa backwards, with her head again sliding behind her inflating breasts. “Oooh, tight…” Lucoa moaned. “Too tight, uunf.”
She expanded into Ichtaca’s chest, and he felt himself against her. He watched with fascination while she grew even rounder, her belly snapping free of her loincloth and the feathers on her chest pulling up over their tops. Wide eyed, Ichtaca saw Lucoa’s waggling toes while she fell onto her back, and his eyes glazed over her center, to her exposed maidenhood. He gaped at her lips, a short multicolored patchwork of hair surrounding the deep purple skin. It throbbed thrice, pushing outward with her swelling body, before finally the gurgling ceased. Instantly, his eyes snapped back, and he hurried around her side.
He found Lucoa’s fat cheeks midway up the back, her body filled up so much that her face had partially sunken in. She was groaning, with crossed eyes, and looked like she was chewing on a slab of fat.
“L-lucoa?” he asked.
“I-I’ll never eat pancakes again, I promise,” Lucoa whispered. Then, she seemed to get a hold of herself, eyes swiveling to Ichtaca. “Ohhoo,” she whined. “Alright, little guy, I need you to… ooof,” her cheeks puffed up even further, “to do me a favor and just fuck me, please…”
Ichtaca held himself up, but only just.
Lucoa looked at him with cross eyes. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly my best idea, either,” she grumbled, “but it’s all we got. You gotta get this… uunnf, I can feel how tight I am. Please.”
Ichtaca felt how sweaty his palms were, but he knew he had to move. “O-okay,” he promised. Lucoa’s body throbbed once more, and she groaned gently while her tummy jiggled. He hurried around her side and back to her front.
Ichtaca felt himself quaking on the floor, despite the waves of heat radiating from the blueberry woman. He was freaking out, no question about it, but his hands remained his own, and he raised them between Lucoa’s legs.
He gently traced his fingers over her lips. He could feel how taut the woman was, and given the groans from around her massive body, she the pressure was only getting worse. His fingers rubbed through her colorful hair, lightly guiding back and forth, and before his eyes a trickle of wetness began to drip from her body. He felt himself growing hard again, watching her quivering belly. Blue juices squelched as he inserted his fingers and pushed deeper into her lips.
She was even warmer inside, and when his fingers pulled back, they were stained with blue juice. The trickle had increased, his gentle touch drawing her juices outward. She smelled powerfully of blueberries now, and Ichtaca felt himself losing his grip on reality. He put his mouth to her lips, pushing from either side with his hands, mushing the juices to meet his tongue. Lucoa gasped, moaning loud enough that he could hear the bliss in her voice, and he felt juice tumbling past his tongue and down his chin. The taste of blueberries was nearly overwhelming, but it was mixed with something higher, something more, that elevated her juice into something truly divine. He’d closed his eyes, pushing deeper and gripping harsher at her, and suddenly it seemed as if gallons of juice were dribbling down his front, soaking his feet and spreading over the altar.
Lucoa’s gasps of pleasure rebounded throughout the room, loudly groaning and moaning as he flicked his tongue through her wet pussy, sucking the wetness from her ripe body. His eyes flashed open, he’d pushed himself up against her body, had rolled her even further on her back, and watched the crest of her belly flop around with every gasp for breath.
Slowly, Lucoa began to shrink. Juice was spilling all over them, soaking each of the interlocked pair as it spilled forth from her body. He had to push her back further to keep her up to his mouth, and then with a sudden grip, he shimmied out of his loins and rolled her forwards. His member met her quivering sex and slid inward, and he felt her tighten herself around him possessively. He thrust into her, juice still dribbling from his mouth, bending her back again and again and again, as the woman continued to deflate, her belly shrinking until he could see her breasts.
They were completely soaked, her nipples gushing juices like miniature waterfalls, and Lucoa’s voice came around their tops. “H-harder, faster,” she cried. “I n-need you.
He felt his vigor sharpen, and pushed deeper, clapping his thighs against her legs as they reformed, tying tightly around him. Soon, Lucoa was merely extremely obese, lying on her back while Ichtaca fought the urge to collapse over her. Her exposed breasts dribbled with juice, and he could see it trickling out of the corner of her fat cheeks, her tongue lulling out over her lips. He pressed his arms against her belly, felt the juice gushing out around his waist, and Lucoa’s eyes bent inward before focusing on him with her amorous groans. It made him push even harder, desperate to please her.
Her hair had been soaked with her juices, dripping wet as she tried to sit up, her weighty arms swaying with excess flab. Ichtaca nearly collapsed, gasping for breath, but she caught him with her hands before gently laying him on the ground.
She was smiling, purple lips still wet with juice. “Hey, you’re doing great,” she praised. He felt elation in his chest at the warmth of her eyes. “Now, let me show you,” she whispered, raising herself above him. She sat upon him, rounded knees locking on either side of his hips, and lowered herself over him.
Her belly flopped up and down in a steady rhythm, and she raised Ichtaca’s exhausted hand to her supple breast. He squeezed her and was rewarded with a fountain of juice and a scandalous moan which shook him to his core. Her touch seemed as vigorous as the sun, somehow causing the very fiber of his being to still rise to meet her, even though he was now completely immersed on the juice of the altar.
Her voice quivered, and she felt the walls of her sex clamping around him, holding him even tighter. His eyes rolled back into his head, and all he knew was Lucoa’s heft as she pulled him up and down, up and down, bringing him unto the white of climax.
When he regained his breath, Ichtaca realized just how sticky he now felt. His head was nearly up to his eardrums as he lay in Lucoa’s juices, but her couldn’t find the energy to even turn. He saw, upon his chest, Lucoa’s golden hair laying over his breast, breathing easily. Her body was still dyed a heavy blue, and she still looked largely overweight, but no longer as incredibly round as before.
He leaned back, just letting himself breathe, and feeling her body upon his. She was burning hot, yet his arm wrapped around her in an uncaring manner, holding her tight unto him. He could feel the air of the temple upon his exposed waist, and a warm gust blew across to where he could feel her thigh, still straddling him.
Lucoa breathed inward, her blue chest blowing up before shrinking back to her massive norm. “That was…” she paused and raised one of her arms up in a stretch before bringing it back to his chest, where she nuzzled her head. “That was wonderful,” she purred.
Ichtaca felt an immense pride bubbling in his chest. He cupped the roll of her plump belly with his hand. “I’m guessing it isn’t always like that,” he said after a while.
Lucoa laughed, her legs shifting over his, intertwined. “No,” she giggled. “Not quite.
He grunted, smiling. “That’s a shame,” he said, leaning back into her juices.
He felt her shift and suddenly, he the goddess was sitting astride his chest. She felt so much heavier, now that the adrenaline had gone, and caused him to gasp.
Lucoa tittered, reaching down and cupping his cheek. “Awe, aren’t you sweet.”
He grunted, trying to pull his arm free, but she had him pinned. “Ahh, Lucoa,” he pinned, “you’re still kinda heavy.”
She giggled into her hand, body jiggling with her chuckles. “And here I thought you liked fat girls,” she said, dipping a naked finger into her navel as she lifted her gut and dropped it over him, slapping his chest.
“I… Unnf, Lucoa, I like to breathe too,” he gasped.
She laughed again, but lifted her ass from his stomach, drooping her breasts into his face while touching her forehead unto his. It was a comforting gesture, and he wrapped his hand instinctively through her wild hair.
“So,” she went on, eyes glittering, “when can I expect you to return?”
He felt butterflies in his stomach. “I can… I can come back?”
Lucoa dipped her breasts over his chin, and kissed him gently on the mouth. “Of course,” she whispered. “You better… or else I might have to come and get you,” she said with a wink.
He found his hand tracing over her waist, feeling her hefty body. “I think…” he paused. “I think I’d like to come back often,” he finally said.
She lifted herself, sitting back on her haunches, tracing blue fingers over his chest. Where she touched, a trail of blue remained, leaving clear and deep markings which she drew with impunity.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
She looked up to him with a dangerous smile. “Marking you,” she said.
He looked at the drawings. Symbols unlike he’d ever seen stained his skin, as blue as her own. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he whispered to her.
“I’m marking you as mine,” she said, eyes gazing fondly as she drew. “Not many ever receive anything like this, but those who do will forever carry me with them.”
“Oh…” he said simply, watching her hand. The trace felt gentle, and once it settled, powerful and warm. “So, what do you want me to do?” he asked.
Lucoa hummed. “I think,” she said, dotting the finishing touches upon his marks, “you should spend the night tonight. Then, in the morning, head home and tend to the crops on your farm.”
He nodded, feeling excitement at the idea of spending the night. “Yeah, okay,” he said.
“Then,” she said, her eyes finding his, “you find your way back to me at the end of the week. So that you may tend to and care for your blueberry, as well.” She leaned forwards, spreading the weight of her fertile body over him once more, and planting a soft, juicy kiss upon his cheek. “Deal?”
