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[SU] Rabbitmunk Festival 2023 (2/2) (early release)
🕑 Added 2023-05-10 03:25:33 +0000 UTC[SU] Rabbitmunk Festival 2023 (2/2)
[ Summary : Limey uses an egg to try and give Cherry some lactation relief, but things get dire when the simple wish leads to the creation of a new Church. ]
The eggs were really filled with hopes and dreams.
Upon opening her egg, Sister Tabitha was immediately tackled by a large, cinnamon-colored Chow Chow despite no one in the area owning such a dog. She welcomed its kisses and returned them with zeal.
She might’ve snuck the sixty-pound animal into the church if Cherry, Peach, and Limey hadn’t been passing by at that exact moment to overhear her plans.
Sister Leah’s egg was empty, but within seconds of opening it, her cell phone rang. What she heard made her burst into tears. Nearby egg hunters crowded her for support, fearing the worst. Instead, between hiccuping sobs, Leah explained how her father was cleared to return home from the hospital. After years of unsuccessful treatment, an unknown infection that had crippled him for months was gone.
The Sisters that surrounded her—the same ones who had prayed on his behalf—joined Leah in joyous tears.
Sister Jada’s egg had a mini cake pop—an unassuming hope-or-dream. But the culinary treat originated at a bakery that was hundreds of miles away in Jada’s hometown. Despite this, the cake pop was fresh, as if prepared that very morning.
If that weren’t miraculous enough, the bakery that Jada frequented had apparently gone out of business when she was a teenager. No one had tasted a single morsel from that bakery in over a decade.
A red velvet cake pop should have been impossible to get.
But on Rabbitmunk Day, nothing was impossible.
The three saintly sisters toured the paths of the church grounds where other stories of miraculous deliverance were commonplace, choosing to do so after Limey conceded to Peach’s speed and considered Cherry’s pressing lactation situation.
While meandering the paved walkways, they passed beneath lush, white magnolias in full bloom and teams of bunny-eared Sisters taking breaks on benches to count up their hauls, each one with a story to share about what had only an hour of egg hunting.
“Seems like everyone’s enjoying themselves,” said Limey. A group called out, wishing her a good morning and complimenting her on her dress. She offered them a wave, glad they weren’t close enough to see that she’d dirtied it by trying to catch Peach. “The egg hunt idea was a great one.”
“I’d be enjoying it more,” said Cherry. “But I’m so full.”
“Right. We’ll get on that.”
Cherry pouted, desperate. The jostling in Limey’s right periphery drew the eye, and the silhouette of Cherry’s frame tipped off a few alarm bells. The youngest wasn’t openly groping herself anymore, but the amount of milk in her tremendous bosom made her bouncing more exaggerated. They absorbed the shock of each step, swishing back and forth sharply before returning to a high, perky center. Even for a girl whose bosoms were already some of the perkiest in the church, Cherry was looking rather ripe.
Peach moseyed, taking up space with her hands knitted behind her head, the poke of muscles clear on her shoulders. A few hunters passed her by and turned to get a second look, curious about the new woman on campus. “Where were you thinkin’?”
Limey answered. “There are a few altars in the woods across the field. We can keep going and get there soon.”
Peach’s body shape stuck out on her left, and she admired—and was envious of—the juxtaposition of her sister’s knockers and her tight, tapered abdominals. K cups, came a voice from the Divine, making sure Limey was aware of her sister’s size. They looked much larger, though, and well-defined, as Peach went braless in her black tank top.
Limey silently made a note to do more crunches. Spring was a time of new beginnings. Maybe her physical health should take priority.
“I hid eggs near the altar, so people might be there,” Cherry said, leaning forward at the hip, addressing the others. “But it’s fine. It won’t be long. It’s close, too. I’m about to leak.”
Peach made a disapproving noise. “Bad idea, squirt.”
“I know. I’m trying not to squirt.”
Peach’s sigh was so heavy that it caused her to lean forward. “No, Cher. The altar’s a bad idea.”
“Huh?”
Limey explained. “Your milk seems a little too potent right now. If you started milking yourself and people were too close by, it might. . .” Limey trailed as a duo with baskets full of eggs came forth on the path. She waved and smiled. They giggled amiably, waved back, and trotted away. “We don’t want to risk anyone being around when a Saint lets down.”
“I-It’s okay if they have a sip,” said Cherry. Her leaned posture caused her titties to develop a dribbling motion, even larger and better defined in her dress. I cup, came the voice.
“It might not be okay,” Limey admitted.
“I don’t mind. Really.”
“That’s sweet of you. And It’s okay if our sisters choose to help you out,” said Limey. “But that’s just it. You might possibly be a little too. . . How do I put it—”
“You’re so damned fuckable right now that the second you start playing with your tits, the nuns won’t have a choice,” Peach said. “They wouldn’t be able to resist.”
Limey glared through her lavender bangs at Peach. The taller sister walked on, unfazed.
They weren’t even close to the words Limey would have chosen, but to Limey’s surprise, Cherry bobbed her head in understanding. “Ah! It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?”
“Y-Yes,” Limey replied. “Exactly. Choice is a core tenet, after all.”
“Right. I totally forgot. I think some of my milk went to my head.” Cherry giggled, then stuck out her tongue.
“So if you do it at an altar, you’ll need a distraction,” said Peach.
Limey was about to suggest that they turn around and return to the pavilion or church building, where there were bathrooms with adequate plumbing and privacy. But like always, Peach was already well on her way to acting with no deliberation. Peach doubled back, jogging to catch the women they’d passed earlier. She did so, earning smitten laughter from the egg hunting sisters that were audible even when their conversation wasn’t.
Their conference was brief. Peach came jogging back with something in her fist and held it out, as if to drop it into Limey’s hand.
Limey eyed the fist with suspicion.
“It’s a scorpion,” Peach said, snarky. “A demonic scorpion. And whoever it stings loses all interest in trashy romance novels.”
“My love of niche romantic literature will never die. I fear no scorpion,” said Limey, dryly. Cherry squinted her eyes as if debating if such a creature could exist. When Peach insisted, however, Limey held out her hand and a pink plastic egg was dropped into it. “Wait. You asked them for an egg? That’s it?”
“Actually, I implied that I’d have sex with them for the egg and they laughed and gave it to me for free.”
“Because I taught them well—”
“Then they asked to see my abs for the egg instead. I accepted. You’re welcome.”
Limey’s eyes narrowed. They’re nice abs, she mentally justified. “What exactly am I welcome to?“
“A distraction,” Peach said, then she gestured to the pink oval. “You need something to get people away from the altar. That’s your hope, right? Then why not trust the egg to work its magic?”
“It’s not ‘magic’,” clarified Limey.
Peach rolled her hand in the air. “If I knew you’d be this nit-picky, I would have actually found that scorpion.” Even Limey had to smile at that remark. “Live a little, Lime. Get in the Rabbitmunk Day spirit.”
“That sounds like a great idea!” Cherry’s excitement was in her voice and limbs. “It’s more than just a day off from your normal duties. You should have fun, too.”
Something large and feathered took off in Limey’s stomach, making her hesitate. She glanced down at the tiny, blush-toned piece of plastic. When sunshine hit the egg, she could see clearly through it—nothing was inside.
However, given the same sense that she gave Cherry earlier, she could feel there was more to the shape than what she was seeing. It felt dense with power, a latent energy ready to rush forth at someone else’s bidding. A ball of potential, an unknown contained by a spring-themed shell.
She supposed that’s what all eggs were, if she boiled it down.
Then she giggled at the pun of “boiling down” springtime symbolism and was instantly in good spirits.
She felt better about the empty bit of plastic rolling about in her small, round palm, if only because she could see some spiritual implication behind the fun.
But before she cast her entire hope on a tiny inkling, she spun back to Cherry. “To be clear, Cherry. . .”
“Mhmm?” Her brown face was beaming, aglow as if this were the chance of a lifetime.
“Whatever I hope for is what comes out of this egg, right?”
“Right.”
“Do I need to say it a certain way? Am I going to be tricked if I misspeak or—”
“It’s not a genie, Lime,” Peach said, dismissively. “Quit stalling and do it.”
“Did your hope ever come true? I didn’t notice—”
“Do it,” Peach said. She reached down quickly. Limey didn’t stop her, as Peach took her hand and closed her fingers. The egg began gave way. Just before it did, Peach pulled away and inclined an eyebrow, leaving the choice to the woman herself.
Choice was a core tenant, after all.
It was right there. She could feel some seal breaking away already, the rise of wisps leaking into her fist as the egg verged on breaking. Limey uttered a sigh and ignored her misgivings for the sake of satisfying two of the most special people in her life.
More than that, Peach and Cherry were saints and members of the Divine Quartet.
Surely their counsel wasn’t completely unfounded.
Placing one palm over the other as if to pray, Limey squeezed her hands while the egg laid between them. It gave a little POP! as it came open. She kept waiting for something to fall into her hands, some piece of hard candy or a rolled bit of cash. Instead, just as she suspected in the beginning, there was nothing hidden within the two shell halves. Even with her second sight, she could see that the latent power that was contained by cheap bulk plastic had dissipated. It fled from her and dispersed into the world around them, leaving to accomplish what it could with what she gave it.
“Welp,” said Peach, who gave the egg a few beats to ‘work its magic’. “Guess we’re out of luck. Unless. . . Should we check the altar?”
“I guess we could. I—”
Just then, a hand fell on Limey’s shoulder. Looking upward, she saw that the hand had come from Cherry. She was halfway through the word, “What?” when, in her blinking, the image of her sister flashed anew before her eyes.
A breeze picked up, pulled along the path by Cherry’s emergent power, nature itself pulling toward one of its many stewards. The leaves in the nearby trees giving their applause, the same winds blowing them, and the patterned skirt at Cherry’s legs kicked up, bringing her thighs into view. Being close enough to touch, Limey watched Cherry’s gaze extend further and further away. Her pupils dilated, flashing as bright as sunflowers before pinching into crosses.
“Cherry? Cherry!” Limey said, rushing the words. Her hand went over Cherry’s, taking hold. “You’re fine, Cherry. You’re fine.”
What did I hope for? thought Limey. She had meditated on the thought of Cherry finding relief in a private place, but now felt that she was being hanged for her own intentions.
Peach assured her this wouldn’t be like a genie, but the wish seemed like it was backfiring.
Also, what the heck did Peach know about genies in the first place?
“I-I’m alright,” Cherry replied as pleasant breezes became April gusts. “J-Just burning off a little energy. That’s all. Feels good.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
Cherry bobbed her head. Her twin tails caught the motion and rose like flags. They were encased in the same golden sheathing that had flashed from her eyes, made to stand on end like a set of foot-long bunny ears.
Rabbitmunk ears, actually.
Once they did, the whirring gusts slowed as Spring resumed its peaceful, optimistic pace. Limey surveyed the area, but besides a few bushes coming into full bloom in seconds and the call of songbirds afar off, nothing seemed too out of sorts. None of the egg hunters were peeking around corners, either. None had seen Cherry change form.
“That’s much better,” said Cherry. She gave her titties some love, and they jiggled from the attention. “I’m not even close to squirting now, hehe.”
“Oh?” Peach walked over, taking a glowing yellow bunny ear between her fingers. “You’re definitely bouncier, if that’s what you mean.”
“Ngh! Mmmh, Peach. S-Sensitive.”
“Oh!” Peach said, releasing the ear. “My bad. They work like that?”
They flopped forward, as close to a sign of embarrassment as a Rabbitmunk girl could ever be.
“I thought they were some gimmick—you really transfigured just now?” Peach asked. “Why?”
“Yea. Why’d you need your transfigured state?” asked Limey.
Doing so gave Cherry an added influence over her spiritual nature; a notable boost in her powers. If it wasn’t for training or for her duties, there seemed little a reason to need to tap into such Divinity—to “burn off” any extra energy.
It wasn’t like there were any demons around or miracles to pull off.
But as Cherry resumed her bunny bouncing, Limey noted the lack of other physical changes.
Cherry hadn’t grown all over the way she usually did when maintaining her transfigured state. She was precisely the same height and build as before—not counting the bunny ears. But if she was tapping into a well of Divine power, it should have been coming out of every pour, uncontained. Last Rabbitmunk Day, she’d gained thickened thighs and curvy calves, a form that filled out a bunny suit and functioned by drawing attention.
She also usually gained a boost to her bustline.
This time was the opposite.
Limey asked the only question that would make sense, given what she knew. “Cherry, where is all your power going?”
Cherry couldn’t hazard a guess before a cry came from behind the trio.
✝
Distress.
It came from the path beyond them, a thicket of woods away on a parallel path. It was the voice of one of the newer nuns, Sister Hazel. And the shrillness of it had Limey moving before she could tell the others to follow.
Tired as she was from chasing Peach, she broke into a sprint up the trail to where they intersected and took a hard left through a connecting pathway into the other, sneakers skidding over stray rocks on the cement walkway. Instinct drove her faster, despite the sinking in the pit of her stomach. Duty activated her divine sense. Only protecting her flock mattered. Her fingers were steepled as she rounded the corner in a lowered stance, ready for anything.
Peach appeared next, bursting through the dense treeline, sending thick, white magnolia floating in her wake. She landed on Limey’s left, flicking the unshaven, orange tail of hair out of the way before surveying the path with darting eyes. She took up the smaller woman’s rear without needing to be told, hands in a low guard.
“It came from up ahead,” said Peach. “Sounded scared.”
“There was a surge of power, too. Let’s press on. Where’s Cherry—”
Cherry landed on Limey’s right, descending from the sky. Apparently, she didn’t miss the opportunity to “burn energy” by leaping over the canopy of magnolia trees and landing without injury. She straightened out her skirts, which had rushed up her legs with the speed of the leap, then trotted over to Limey’s side.
“You can move that fast?” Cherry said, pigtails still acting like rabbit ears, standing erect with excitement. “You never move that fast. How didn’t you catch Peach?”
“She keeps a lot of secrets, squirt. Lots of ‘em,” said Peach, the irony of the question not lost to her. “Speaking of, since when did you have a sixty foot vertical?”
“I’m transfigured. You guys aren’t,” said Cherry. Her huge, glowing eyes were full and twinkling, seeing her sisters in a light she hadn’t witnessed. “I didn’t even realize you left, Limey. You were a blur going around that corner, too. How do you take corners so fast?!”
In truth, Limey had practiced maneuvering her comparatively small body by swinging it around the anchor of her exceedingly endowed breasts, allowing for swift changes in direction without sacrificing speed. She was proud of such a technique. As silly as it was, it took years to develop and decades to master. It was the sort of needlessly complex and mildly embarrassing thing she would ordinarily relish teaching to eager young saints like Cherry.
But she couldn’t afford to waste a breath now without knowing why Hazel had cried out.
Except, now that she could see straight down the walking path, she could see that Hazel was not being attacked by a demon—the way her imagination had entertained.
The opposite was actually the case.
Limey let her power fall away and watched from a distance as Hazel—a beautiful young lady whose eyes and hair matched her name—gave urgency to the sensation in her body. She patted herself down as if her buttoned blouse had caught fire, and the woman with her—looked like Sister Caitlyn—helped by giving the thoroughest inspection. Panic made the two of them clumsy, fingers flicking at buttons on Hazel’s blouse. Their words were short and their gazes long, their egg hunt interrupted by whatever oddity was occurring.
A stage or so removed from the situation, Limey could see with clarity the changes taking place.
The dots connected themselves now.
“You’re kidding,” said Limey. “You’re sending your power into. . . I mean, that’s one way to relieve the pressure, but c’mon, Cherry.”
Cherry’s ears slumped back, falling limp in submission. “Hehe, sorry. I couldn’t take it anymore. A-And I didn’t exactly choose to transfer it. It’s like it was being drawn out somehow. . . At I’m sharing it, right?”
“. . .”
“Oh, right. The choice thing.”
“So no demon fighting,” said Peach. She turned to stand with Limey and Cherry, easing now that she saw Hazel’s situation. “But Cherry’s powers are making tits grow? Now this is what I expected on a holy day.”
Again, her description, while crude, couldn’t have been more accurate.
Shafts of midday light came through the trees in holy patches from above. As a strong spring breeze rushed down the path, Hazel let out a whimper that turned into a moan. It was hard at first to decipher if she wanted the sensation to pause or go on, but that changed quickly when the young sister lifted her hands and stole several long, seductive squeezes of her boobs through her shirt.
“Mmmh!” she groaned, ponytail whipping as she came up on her tiptoes and inclined her chin.
Caitlyn was there for consolation. Her harried, gentle speech was muffled by the rushing of wind, while her proclamation to the powers that be were loud and clear when she caught a gander at Hazel’s pulsing chest.
“Holy. . . Divine, Hazel. You’re making a lot of—”
“Mmmh! MMMH! Miiilk!”
The strain of moaning caused Hazel’s body to seize up, and only the use of the older sister’s body as support kept her upright.
Hazel, new to the faith, didn’t have a boastful body. Hers was a modest imminence, her boobs only ever becoming large when she’d missed a milking or two; “growing” more than “showing”. Because she was so regular with her offerings, one rarely saw Hazel larger than an F cup—grand and feminine, but not over the top.
That changed within minutes. Hazel’s floral button down rose and fell unnaturally with the speedy shift in size, having a breath all their own. Except, with each exhale, she would return not to the F cups with which she began, but with another size larger, gaining inch after inch while holy forces made their presence known upon her body.
“M-My shirt. It’s—Mmmh!” Hazel groaned, body reaching a point where even her politely covered curves created wrinkles as they filled the fabric.
“Here, I’ll get it off. I’ll—. . . E-Ears? Now? You just grew ears!”
Sister Caitlyn struggled to save the blouse by undoing the buttons, but while her hand continued to prod at ballooning bosoms, her attention went northward where Hazel’s body had changed in yet another fashion:
Bunny ears.
They seemed to unfurl all at once and were no less real than the slivers of flesh that could be seen between Hazel’s strained buttons. White and fluffy, they shot upright and straight, a little over a foot to each one. They twitched like they might pick up something—but what sense would having rabbit ears make if one already had a human set?
Limey pondered this, then pondered why she hadn’t pondered it for the other multitude of nuns that technically had two sets of ears.
In any case, her thinking face flattened when she heard herself being addressed.
“Sister Theresa! Thank Divine you’re here. S-Sister Theresa, please, come quick! I think something’s wrong w-w. . .” Sister Caitlyn started by angling her plea toward Limey, but her words lost steam as she appraised the saint’s company. “I-I don’t. . . Who are you—”
“Mmmh! S-So big! I’m getting so big, I—. . . Mmmh!”
Limey moved. She plastered a peaceful expression on her face while also tossing a few consoling words Caitlyn’s way. All the while, she monitored Hazel, unsure of how a constant stream of potent energy—intended for Cherry—would affect her. Hazel’s tits rose and rose, their shapes perfectly wrapped in material that betrayed her carnal improvements. Fanning wrinkles fled from the areas of highest tension, the rounded borders of flesh drawing cotton into thinned plains and raised ridges. The severity of each growth spurt made each new size jiggle as they emerged. She grew so quickly that her spheres collided with each accelerated thrust toward top-heaviness.
It wasn’t her own will that had caused this, but the bolstering of the Spring Saint within her, like water bringing froth closer to the lip of a bucket.
Except, there was more to it than that, more than Limey could see while keeping a calculated, intentional distance.
“Please, Theresa. I don’t know what to do.” Caitlyn held Hazel’s leaning body in her left arm, but was already extending her down to Limey’s level as the smaller woman approached.
Limey held up her hand, insisting she not be involved. “You’re doing wonderfully, Caitlyn. Having a trusted sister by her side is all Hazel needs at a time like this.”
“What’s happening to her—”
“Mmmh! Mmmh!” With each of Hazel’s moans, the adorable bunny ears on top of her head twitched. Another throb of growth caused her blouse to surge, riding up so that the bottom of her featureless abdomen showed. “Th-This is so much. Wh-What’s happening to me?”
You’re gaining three cup sizes a minute, that’s what, thought Limey.
To the disciples, she said, “I believe it’s a Rabbitmunk Day miracle,” then giggled awkwardly. “Or it might be one of the eggs you found. Did you, perhaps, hope that being larger might be the reward for finding an egg?”
Despite the question’s forthright nature, Hazel answered earnestly. “N-No. I just thought we were hav-v-ving fun. I-I just wanted to get closer to my sisters, and—. . . MMMH!”
Hazel’s teeth sank into her lip, the slosh of milk singing through as her tits plumped all the fuller.
“I think the Divine sees fit to bless you today,” said Limey. “Hold tight, Hazel.”
“H-Honored. I’m h-h-hon—aaaaahn! Mmmh!”
The slivers of skin that once showed between Hazel’s blouse buttons were now shaped like diamonds, providing an entire window at each junction. Her tits rushed outward on a sudden burst, going from the size of cantaloupe straight past head size. Something tore. Another something twisted audibly, the sound of clothing failing to contain the magnitude of Hazel’s growing womanliness.
All the while, Caitlyn stroked Hazel’s cheek and whispered that everything would be okay.
Hazel was the last person who needed to hear that, though. She was approaching bliss at blinding speed. She winced once more, forcing herself to breathe through the intensity of her bodily sensations. Eyes half open and barely recovering from the rush, she tilted her head and inclined a limp arm. When Limey and Caitlyn followed the line of her finger, they found it landed on Cherry.
Then, the wind picked up again.
A spark of yellow flashed in over Hazel as she spoke. “Saint Cherry. . .”
Her voice sounded like it came from all around and within each person present at the same time. Accompanying hers came a choir of other voices, echoing, bolstering.
Underneath it, Sister Caitlyn shouted, panicking. “No, Hazel. That’s Sister Frankie. You’re seeing things. It’s not—”
“She who is the Beginning. . . Chosen of the Divine. . . Bringer of Spring. . . m-my. . .”
No way. This is. . .
Limey spun, looking at Peach, and giving the most rebellious sister a look of bald urgency. Peach nodded with utmost understanding, gave Cherry a slap on the upper back, then turned to leave.
Peach would block off the pathways leading to this one, occupying the other hunters.
Good.
Now Limey only needed to get Cherry onboard.
She rushed back to Cherry, who had kept her distance. Although the young Saint was by far the most promising that Limey had ever mentored, she could see the discomfort oozing off of Cherry’s visage. The girl stood stock still—something that the energized bunny girl had never done once since serving with Limey. Her shoulders folded inward, one hand grabbing the fingers of the other, tension around her eyes.
“There, there,” said Limey, huffing as she jogged the short distance. “This is alright. This is good. You’re finally being recognized.”
For all her femininity and wisdom, Cherry sounded like a child in her reply. “This is okay?”
Limey took her hand. “Your church, Cherry. Hazel is becoming a member of your church.”
“Wasn’t she a member of yours, though?”
Limey nodded. “But you’ve shown that you deserve your own membership. Your own following. It’s time that you appoint Hazel as a Saint of Church Cherry.”
✝
“Mmmh! Ahhhn!”
Hazel’s back arched, her whole body being thrown up and over Caitlyn’s arm. Hazel angled her tits higher and higher, their shapes taking on a new allure now, along with their new largeness. Her arm fell limp as extra pleasure took hold of her weakening body. She groaned with maddened bliss as her boobs swelled larger and larger, too large for her torso to equally balance their weight and slumping onto both sides of her body.
If nothing was done to slow the process, Hazel would quickly become too heavy for anyone to keep upright. Beyond that, she would end up writhing on her back as her runaway growth slowly submerged the rest of her body.
Someone had to stop this.
Limey supposed that was her job, at least while Cherry composed herself.
She went to move to Hazel, but Cherry’s hand in hers kept her moored. Limey turned. “Cherry?”
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” said Cherry, clear, concise. “I-I need more training. More time. I-I can barely pull off a festival without you and Peach helping me. I haven’t heralded Spring on my own yet. I’m not ready to do this alone—I’m nothing like you guys. I—”
“Mhhh! Mhhh!”
SHHHHKRRRTT!
Several concussive pops followed the sound of shredding. A volley of buttons made Limey and Cherry shield themselves as Hazel’s shirt came undone. Her boobs leaped up into the air, clapping together once before their palenesses wobbled into a slow stability. They had a life of their own, weightlessly stirring the air with their erect peaks long after being freed. They were massive, and the combination of visible veins and glowing nipples gave away how sensitive they had become. Shortly after being freed, they ruptured with surging milk. Thick, syrupy lines of liquid tumbled down her undersides while blooming fans of brew arched into the air. The explosion lasted long enough to celebrate her new freedom before settling into a steady, sticky trickle. The span between herself and the Saint Sisters was now thick with the perfume of new milk.
Hazel was triple her starting size, and hadn’t shown a single sign of stopping.
“Th-Theresa? Help,” whimpered Caitlyn, whose arm was shaking from the effort of keeping Hazel from toppling over.
Wind continued to whip. Leaves rattled. Fear and exhilaration and doubt all thickened the air.
Cherry was paralyzed, her emotions transmitted to the space nearby.
They would accomplish nothing like this.
Limey raised her left hand in half of a steeple in front of her chest and squeezed Cherry’s hand tightly. Her power swelled within her without needing to be called. Silently, she offered a prayer for guidance from the Great Divine, invoking the lineage of the Algods and her designation of Sainthood while doing so. When she finished, she could feel their power joining hers and opened her eyes, seeing that which always lingered just beyond her mortal sight.
Her bosom shifted. It was invisible to most, though Cherry may have seen it; a change in the way they sat, a rousing in their spirit. They rose in her white top, filling to utter plumpness, growing until they brushed the hand she held out in front of them. She inhaled sharply, her flesh bending around her hand, slinking into her wrist, brimming with might.
Then she exhaled. In the breath, Limey said the words, “Be still.”
And as the seasons heeded the requests of the Quartet that bore their names, so time hearkened to the Great Saint’s appeal.
Limey eased and took both of Cherry’s hands as she felt her power leave her. As Hazel’s voice echoed, resonating in the souls of those that heard, Limey’s command now rang out around them. A sort of bubble widened, enveloping everyone in her influence.
Silence. Peaceful silence.
The world stood inanimate, allowed to sigh in relief after being riled up. Space leaned on time, the way Hazel leaned on Caitlyn, the sturdier of the two standing in place.
Cherry snapped her head back and forth, watching leaves suspend in the midair and the call of birds slow, pitch dropping from whistling to honking to percussive breaths before ending.
“Limey,” Cherry said. “This is. . . you’re doing.”
Limey nodded.
Cherry searched her mentor’s eyes, going back and forth across the bridge of Limey’s nose. The edges of her lips pulled toward her chin. “And you’re not even transfigured. . . It’s that easy for you.”
“Cherry, now isn’t the time,” said Limey, genuinely uninterested in Cherry’s astonishment. “Right now, Hazel is waiting for you, and you’re ready to accept her.”
Cherry’s whole body curled inward toward Limey. Her knees bent so their faces were closer, her pigtails slumping in front of her shoulders. “I’m not. I can’t have my own church yet. I just started getting the hang of my transfiguration—”
Limey giggled. “Imagine the ‘Saint of Beginnings’ being afraid to start something new. That’s unlike you, Cherry.”
“What if people worship me?”
“That’d be wonderful. It’s what we’ve worked so hard for.”
Cherry shook her head. “They’ll find out. . .”
Limey quirked a singular eyebrow. “. . . find out?”
“That I’m not like you and Peach. I’m not mature like you or busty like you, or—”
“You’re plenty busty, Cher. And growing just fine—which I would know, because I got a nice feel of you today, and—”
“No,” said Cherry. Her defiance sizzled in the aftermath, a belief resistant to being uprooted. Limey was taken aback, so Cherry explained herself, buried emotions coming up archaeologically; in dirty pieces, unfamiliar, separated by vast spans of time. “It’s the middle of Spring. I should be really big right now. Huge! But you and Peach are still way bigger than me. A-And with Hazel? When she screamed? You both moved faster than me to get to her, even while I’m transfigured. Even when I’m supposed to be at my best, you’re all effortlessly better. And if people worship me when they expect women as amazing as you, they might—” Cherry paused, her voice dying in a tremble, reduced to a whisper. “They might find out I’m. . . weird.”
“. . .”
“Nobody can hear us, right?” Cherry gazed around.
Limey did the same, following her eyes. Since both of them had the Sight, they could see the lime-tinted halo that comprised a shared bubble in time that spanned the whole walking path. A substance descended from the sky like snow and stuck to branches and leaves, utter stillness coming to everything it touched. Falling leaves, dancing flowers, all made to rest. It even clung to the air in clumps, leaving streamers of glowing light against the sleeping swirls of springtime wind.
The glowing, green tint outlined the words leaving Cherry’s lips, bubbles of puffed air that paused before they could reach Hazel and Caitlyn. If she cared who overheard her insecurity, then Cherry had nothing to worry about.
The same could not be said for Limey. Cherry’s confession made her ache.
“You are not weird,” said Limey. “Look. You weren’t chosen because you’re worthy. None of us were. You’re worthy because you’re chosen. You know that.”
“I know,” Cherry said, unconvinced.
At first, Limey’s words had fire, because she hated that someone she loved so much could ever have such low self-estimation. But as she talked, Limey came to further realization that slowed her. “And everything the Divine has given you—your earnestness, your eagerness, your uniqueness—they’re things that no one should ever look down on. Nobody should ever make you feel weird because of them. . . especially not me.”
“What?”
Limey sighed. She rarely found herself in confessional, but it seemed as good a time as any to clear her conscience. “How do I put this? I didn’t exactly think the head pat idea was a good one. And when I had the choice of having faith or stepping in, I tried to ‘help’ you instead of trusting the Divine. I stepped in when I shouldn’t have.”
“H-Hopped in,” said Cherry, correctional. “Bounced in, actually. It was definitely a bounce when you went for the megaphone.”
“Uh, right,” Limey agreed. “Technically, yes. I ‘bounced’ in. All of that to say, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to let you do things on your own. I was a little doubtful and acted hastily. . . without thinking about how my doubts would affect you.”
Cherry pouted, though not on her own behalf. “But that’s not a bad thing. You do everything you do to protect me. I know that. So if you were bouncing in, it’s probably because I was about to mess things up by being weird again. I need your guidance, so don’t feel—”
“I’m sorry, Cherry,” Limey said, and preached to the part of herself—however small—that struggled with hearing it. “Just because I’m teaching you about the Divine doesn’t make my way of doing things more ‘correct’ than yours. You’re a member of the Divine Quartet—the one that I chose myself. You were right about the eggs and right about the head pats. I should have had faith in you—no. No. I should have practiced the faith I’ve always had in you.”
“Limey. . .” said Cherry, the crosses in her eyes drowning as they became dewy.
“And I’m not about to be alone in this. We both need to put more faith in you, and you’re starting right now.”
“But—”
Limey didn’t have to ‘bounce’ this time to reach a spot that was normally out of reach. She placed her hand on the crown of Cherry’s head. As she worked her palm into an affectionate rustle, she offered another nod. “I’m proud of the Spring Saint you’ve become. You’re not weird. You’re ready. I’m sorry that my actions don’t always reflect that. You do what the Divine has called you to do, okay? Whether or not I understand it.”
And though time was already in a bubble around them, it stood even stiller for Cherry, then.
Her jaw came open, but no words tumbled free of her lips. The puffiness in her eyes happened quickly, a redness coming to her nose.
Limey called her name, attempting to snap her from the emotional fit that looked to overtake her, but found Cherry clinging to her with a speed that crushed her body.
“Thank you,” Cherry said, her cheek against Limey’s, arms around the shorter woman’s neck. “I-I was afraid you thought I wasn’t ready.”
“You’re so ready.” Limey returned the embrace, squeezing hard and long and tight, unashamed of what they shared. She felt a pang of guilt, though, and added, “And I’m sorry if I haven’t validated that enough. Maybe we should hug more. . .”
“It was the head pat,” answered Cherry. “Those are rare. I-It’s powerful stuff.”
“Noted.”
“I-I think I can do this.”
“You can do this. You’ve got my full support.”
The eagerly coddled younger sister broke the hug, standing tall, bolstered by her older sister’s reassurance. For anyone else, the shift in emotions would have seemed too speedy to be genuine.
She trusts me so much, thought Limey. So much that, at Limey’s word, Cherry’s entire perspective shifted—fear to fortitude in a wink of time.
Limey would take better care of that trust moving forward; would force herself to be better for Cherry. For now, she looked on, proud of the young woman that strode over to Hazel.
Cherry let the straps of her dress fall down her arms as she walked and unrolled the front of her gown to unfurl her fruitful breasts.
Caitlyn followed Cherry’s walk with her eyes, seeing the young woman as if for the first time. Wonder and relief came over her. “Sister Frankie. . .” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. She looked to Limey for confirmation, which Limey provided with a nod. “You’re not. . . are you really Frankie?”
Cherry bobbed her chin. “I look different. . . but I’m still me. Promise. Mind if I see Hazel?”
At Cherry’s behest, Caitlyn shifted Hazel’s dead weight from her arm over to Cherry’s. Though bewildered by the strange snow globe effect around them and the realization of the Divine’s powers at work, Caitlyn took a step back and folded her hands, submissive to the process. Limey made a note to give her a head pat for not freaking out under so much pressure.
Apparently, head pats were what her disciples had been missing.
“Hazel? Hazel. You there? Wakey wakey.” Cherry held the woman from the side, no effort on her face while supporting Hazel’s weight. She gave the woman a few testing shakes, all of which translated to her slinking, milk-filled balloons as generous bounces were made slow and hypnotic by the time dilation.
Hazel was reluctant, but stirred when given a proper shaking. “F-Frankie?”
Cherry beamed. “Hey.”
“S-Sister Frankie, I-I. . .”
“You’re going to be a’okay. The Spring Saint is here to. . . H-Hey! Wait! Hazel, I—. . .”
Hazel wasn’t particularly interested in the Spring Saint’s declaration. Animated by some unusual spirit, she instead flung herself at Cherry, her whole body flipping from a backward lean to a forward one. The young saint caught her with ease, but the new position put the two women’s uncovered fronts together, bareness to bareness. A fiery blush overtook the fairer skinned woman.
“Mmm,” Hazel purred.
“H-Hazel? I understand how you must feel, but right now I need to—Ngh! Mmmh!” Cherry groaned. “Sensitive. S-Sensitive! O-Okay, I don’t need to—. . . Mmmh!”
Suspended by the underarms, Hazel’s head fell forward. She indulged herself in soft, chocolate bliss, putting her lips to work over Cherry’s I cups as if starved. She huffed and moaned. Her hands sank and grabbed Cherry’s hips, clawing to get more of the dress off. She became distant, swimming with desire—the demure, modest newbie to the faith now clutching for physical affection, unabashed. The outside looked like uncontained lust, her weakened limbs motivated by what was promised by Cherry’s gorgeous body caressing her own.
But hers was not an empty desire, nor was it as shallow as physical yearning. One could see the plain gratitude on her face as she groped to be nearer to Cherry, pushing her nose into the shadowy cleft between Cherry’s engorged breasts, the unbridled joy as she deemed this embrace a sanctuary.
“Thank Divine, it’s you,” said Hazel, now in high enough spirits to utter a playful giggle. “It’s you. I knew you were special. I knew it. And you’ve always been so friendly to me—I wouldn’t want anyone else right now.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“We’re going to. . . take care of me, aren’t we?”
“Y-yes? Yes. . . We are? I think so. It’ll be great if we can, but I don’t. . .” Cherry said. She looked at Limey with a question she couldn’t ask aloud.
Limey raised her eyebrows, extending an upright thumb in their direction. “Uh-huh.”
Cherry’s face lengthened in surprise. “Really? You mean this is. . .” she mouthed, but had already accepted Limey’s answer by filling her attention with Hazel and tilting her body further into the brunette. “I get to be with you right now? Just like that?”
“Thank Divine,” said Hazel before slipping her arms under Cherry’s and bringing her body closer, head resting on a shoulder. “Somehow, I knew it would be you to come and save me.”
“I. . . think I knew it somehow, too.”
They embraced. Tension crackled in the surrounding air, but the emotional connection was infinitely paramount over the eagerness to strip one another. Hazel’s sexual throes eased when her body had something soft and curvy to be pressed against, and Cherry’s often wandering mind narrowed in focus to the sister she held in her arms. Hazel said something. Cherry giggled. Cherry replied too loud with, “Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.” And Hazel cuddled closer, proving that inexperience was nothing to be ashamed of. Sensual sighs wrapped around them. Their topless bodies rose and fell in a full-figured dance of curves and appreciation. They were beautiful and young with hearts quick to intimacy.
Neither had experience. Their connection seemed utterly instant, too. But Hazel was lost in Cherry’s eyes, like she’d wanted something like this for much longer than just now.
And, of course, Cherry had been chosen for this exact moment. She’d trained for years to gain her first disciples. It only took a nudge from the Divine—a cute, rabbit-eared sister that clearly crushed hard on her—to get her to do what she’d been ordained to do.
All the while, Hazel’s body further evidenced her bond, responding to her true feelings. A spread of cleavage rose toward their faces while the two held each other, her breasts so huge they wrapped around Cherry’s waist and over her hips, craving more of her. The fact that she could still grow at such a pace even when Limey had caused time to stall around them was proof that Cherry’s first convert was tender at heart, receptive to the Divine Will.
Cooing and petting took a turn. Hazel freed a hand and drew little patterns into Cherry’s plump, pushed up jugs. Her index finger dipped into their shared cleavage, her actions betraying her thoughts. Cherry’s shoulders twisted gently, kneading the larger woman like dough with her own pillowy body.
Hazel made a beguiling smirk, eyelashes fluttering. “You’re so soft.”
“Thanks. Bouncy too, I think.”
Limey quirked a brow.
Hazel reacted enthusiastically. “Oooh, can I see?”
Cherry nodded, ardent. She leaned just enough to free her bosoms from where they’d been trapped against Hazel’s. Now floating atop the life preserver of lady flesh wrapping around her middle, Cherry rolled her belly and her gently sloping chest sprung about with utmost zeal. Their opposing, circular jiggles caused them to rebound off of Hazel’s own softnesses, sending off ripples each time the saint’s basketballs contacted the expansive “court” of feminine softness.
“Wow!” Hazel remarked, not an ounce of deception in the exclamation. “They’re so bouncy.”
“They get this way during springtime.”
“They’re hypnotizing me, hehe. I—” Hazel began. “Ah! Oh my. . .”
“Mmmh! Ahh. . .” Cherry moaned, wincing before her face smoothed over. She saw between the both of them that her bouncing had brought on more than simple, silly fun as white beads now spangled the tops of Hazel’s tits. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for anything to come out.”
Hazel’s exhale was so hot and heavy, it was a wonder no steam rose away from her recently licked lips. She stared at the spread of their knockers, which were now covered with sprinkles of breast milk.
“I guess I’m fuller than I thought,” Cherry said, tone tentative.
Hazel shook her head, her rabbit ears falling backward, mimicking her ponytail. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean us up. . .”
“Oh. . .”
Then Hazel touched her chin to her collarbone and hoisted the undersides of her spread of flesh. Tongue out, she collected each dollop of cream, moaning and giggling as she went. Maintaining full eye contact, she followed the path back to Cherry’s leisurely lactating spigots and slowed before taking the plunge, mouth opening and encircling Cherry’s coffee capped mammary.
The squeal of euphoria was the only hint Limey needed to know that her younger sister would be just fine.
Caitlyn, however, was noticeably not fine.
She had a front-row seat to two topless bunny girls surging with divinity, the loud, audible gulps of Hazel’s drinking a surefire tell as to the thickness and quality of Cherry’s breast milk. Caitlyn’s teeth sank into her lip. Her thighs squeezed together. Unrolling from the top of her head came two bunny ears of her own and shortly thereafter came a noticeable jostle in her t-shirt as if two overripe oranges with bulging navels had sprouted from her chest. She uttered a jealous sigh, pouting afterward now that she saw what Hazel was getting.
Limey sighed, too, though hers was humored instead of horny.
She walked over, took Caitlyn by the hand, and walked toward the edge of the bubble with her sexually frustrated disciple in tow. As she passed, she waved to Cherry. Cherry kissed the air in Limey’s direction and mouthed, “I love you so much,” before fully devoting herself to breastfeeding Hazel.
Hazel was unaware that Caitlyn was leaving, having given up on licking herself clean in favor of knocking back as much fresh cream as she could. Last Limey saw, Hazel’s hanging bosoms forced her to stand with her hips pushed back so her church bells could sway between her thighs. Each gulp of new milk put her incredible chest another size larger until her nipples were sweeping the ground underneath them.
Cherry moaned, rapturous, cradling the woman’s head against her body, yielding nourishment to her newest disciple. Hazel’s body was all the inspiration anyone would need to do the work of the Most High to utter satisfaction.
The two were perfect together.
Limey left on such a perfect note.
But when she and Caitlyn breached the bubble of suspended time, they beheld utter, jarring chaos.
Inside the bubble was the beautiful union of feminine energies and the emergence of the Church of Saint Cherry.
Outside, the campus walkways were lined with unsupervised, topless, lactating nuns.
✝
The lavender-haired servant of the Divine tilted her head, attempting to come to terms with what she was seeing. But a stray line of breast milk clocked her in the forehead, forcing her to contend with the displays of raw, sapphic love being carried out before her:
In both directions down the walkway, under the shade of magnolia trees—now so plump with blooms that their branches dangled low and full and gorgeous—just short of two-hundred women were celebrating their well-endowed bodies.
Against the trunks of trees, they leaned together, entwined and kissing, a fixture of their beautiful environment. Moans rose up from the lines of bushes where long legs ended in curled toes and giggles. One might have assumed the worst upon seeing such a thing if not for the repetition of complimentary exclamations like, “You’re so big!” and “They won’t stop growing!”
Other huge-breasted, milk-squirting saints draped themselves over benches to have the buffet of their bodies relished by a carousel of milk-hungry sisters, each one more beautiful and aroused than the last. It seemed whoever was doing the quickest growing was attended to by the largest group of women as some sojourned down the path in groups of three or four to seek out further nourishment.
One would think that their round distended bellies would indicate their satisfaction, but no such satisfaction took place. Nothing seemed to bring pause to the piles, clumps, and cloisters of nuns all gorging themselves on breast milk.
“Wh-What is—. . .”
On the path coming up to her, Limey bore witness to a group of three women, one of which was wincing as she clutched at her chest. They had been part of the egg hunt earlier, one of the groups on the front line as Cherry explained the rules. But they, like everyone else, had abandoned their hunting in favor of feasting.
Except Yvette likely hadn’t considered herself to be next on the menu.
The relaxed fit of her t-shirt pulled at once, no longer flowing around the shape of her body but adhering to it. At once, the fronts of the gray top turned charcoal. A shadow grew darker underneath as her paunchy abdomen fell under the shade of an extending shelf of breast, her body racing forward as it evolved before her eyes.
“So good!” mewled Yvette, hands already at work as she pressed them into her mounting hills, in awe at the sensation of such a speedy expansion. “I can feel how much milk they’re making. B-But it’s not supposed to happen this fast—”
She was correct. Barring something miraculous, a woman’s milk production was a slow and deliberate effort, building up as her devotion and dedication deepened.
But something miraculous had taken place.
Heaven bore witness to the birth of a new church and its floodgates had swung open in celebration. Yvette immediately inherited a milk production that would have taken decades to cultivate naturally, and her titties rushed down and outward into teardrops that she had to reach out and catch before they dragged her to the ground. They bypassed her hands, filling her arms within seconds, and the race of a blush on her face proved that she could have wanted nothing except this chesty improvement to her body. She even seemed to enjoy when her Divine blessing outpaced her body’s ability to keep it contained, and her bulging, fistable nipples gushed several ounces of milk all at once, leaving everything south of her bustline sodden in the almond-scented harvest of her blessed figure.
It wasn’t long before other women caught wind. The women she’d hunted for eggs with began tearing into their teammate’s shirt, ripping at ridged wrinkles and working with Yvette’s enhanced hotness to tear her free from bothersome modesty. The moment a throbbing nipples was freed, it cast a trinity of beaded lines down the path that other women followed to get to the woman with the latest blessings.
Yvette continued to grow, but she did so while trapped under a heap of voluptuous, sapphic affection; their moans like music while upward-angled bosoms cast up their thick, wet celebration, high enough to tickle the flowers above.
Yvette was but one of many. Other sisters erupted like this, their rabbit ears unfurling only moments before their titties inflated with liters of milk in seconds.
The ground became dark with moisture in spite of a cloudless sky. The wind became thick with humidity and headiness, something to be waded through.
And Limey considered turning around and entering the invisible bubble in space-time to wait out the madness taking place before her.
Divine knows I can’t stop them, she thought.
“Hey!”
Limey saw that Peach was waving her over, sitting on one of the cement walls in a grotto opposite the path Limey came from.
Seeking answers, Limey almost went to her sister, but she had Caitlyn who she’d pulled into the mess of bodies to attend to. The woman looked pained at having to stand by Limey’s side, however, so Limey dismissed her and watched Caitlyn draw her shirt off and holler while running to the nearest group of moaning, giggling, lactating women.
Limey pinched the bridge of her nose, and stepped over and around bodies until she made it over to Peach—the one she’d entrusted with preserving order.
Instead, Peach attended to the company that lay in her lap.
Adorable, furry company—a black-streaked rodent the size of a bread loaf with elongated, floppy ears and cheeks stuffed with lunch.
Limey hadn't seen one in years. Then again, she hadn't visited Patmos in years. Its presence shouldn't have even been possible—it would have to cross timelines just to—
"Cute, huh?" Peach said and smirked while giving the creature a stroke from head to tail.
It trembled cutely, a tuft of a tail vibrating in delight.
"A Rabbitmunk?" Limey asked.
Peach shrugged. "It came right up to me moments before the orgy started. I'm as confused as you are."
Limey jammed her thumb and middle finger into her closed eyes. "It’s not an orgy. There’s no actual sex happening.”
“Details, details,” said Peach, fawning over her new friend. “I assume Cherry pulled it off.”
“She’s still pulling it off, actually.”
“Atta’ girl.”
But the thought of breaking up dozens of intertwined bodies before the end of the day weighed heavy on Limey’s mind. Then came the weeks of needing to get everyone’s milk production regulated and synchronized. The Divine was surely being praised with the utter overflow of milk, but the logistics of dealing with the aftermath was. . .
"Tsk tsk. You know better, Lime," Peach kicked her legs and leaped down from her perch with grace, innocent creature under her arm. "The Great Saint doesn't get days off."
Limey’s expression went blank. Then, she snorted. She crossed over to Peach and stole the adorably fuzzy creature into her hands, holding it up to admire its unparalleled cuteness. Its tawny nose twitched as it smelled her, its big, innocent eyes contrasting the mischief in its puffy cheeks.
She loved it instantly.
She wanted to know how it got so far from home.
A cacophony of lusty groaning encroached on her peace, and she couldn’t keep the two from blending.
“I shouldn’t be so naive,” Limey admitted, finally addressing Peach’s point. “Now then, how are we going to get this handsome little guy back to Patmos?”
“Your guess is as good as mine—”
The rabbitmunk raised its arms to its tapered face, then, and without warning worked a golden egg from its cheek pouch. The item balanced in the tiny paw grip before slipping, balanced perfectly atop Limey’s shelf of breast like a gift saved for this precise moment.
It was, admittedly, less cute than she would have thought it would be.
“Prayer answered?” Peach said, shrugging.
“Uh-huh,” Limey groaned. Though, having learned her lesson, she stroked the rodent's significantly smaller head with an index finger as reward for finding the golden egg.
It chirped happily at her.
“Happy Rabbitmunk Day,” Peach uttered sarcastically, then burst into uncontained laughter.
Limey, cognizant of the absurdity of her day, handed the animal back to Peach, extracted the golden egg before it disappeared in her cleavage, and found the nearest bench to sit on. She inclined her head and inhaled deeply.
“Divine. . .” she breathed, then felt the rejoicing all around her, the dance of Spring at its mightiest. She resigned herself to it, saying, “Happy Rabbitmunk Day,” to no one in particular, then to herself, then five times more until she felt the sentiment glowing inside her.
Glowing, of course, next to a prickly vine of anxiety upon a river of exhaustion, but glowing all the same.
* *
Sorry for the lateness, but HAPPY RABBITMUNK DAY!
I do hope you all had a lovely Spring and are excited that the Church of Saint Cherry is officially open.
Hope you also liked the booba. It was great fun to write.
I'll say that I struggled because I wanted to include Alex and Kenedi Ashford in this story, but 10k words is a bit much of a story to then include two more characters. Still, there's a snippet of them in a part of the story I had to cut that I might upload later, since their story intertwines naturally with the idea of Rabbitmunk Day. Plus, it's wholesome, cute family sweetness that I get a kick out of, so maybe others will appreciate that, too.
Alas, it's time I moved on to other stories. While not as SMOKING HOT as some other stories, I hope the feels, the squishiness, and the crazy antics of super powered nuns were in abundance this year.
And seeing as I'm behind on Booberella and Proud Peaks, I'll be knocking those out starting now.
Thank you all for your continued support and patience. I apologize for the usual pacing and grammar issues and hope to see you all again next week.
Also, head pats.
Enjoy
