The moon hung fat and silver over Lowcrag Hollow, bathing the narrow paths in pale light. The village slept uneasily after the tithe ritual—whispers of Mira's broken cries and the Wanderer's unrelenting cock lingered like smoke in the air. But one hut at the edge of the herb gardens glowed faintly from within, its windows shuttered except for a single crack.
Lira's hut smelled of lavender and crushed mint, sharp and soothing all at once. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the rafters, brushing against my shoulders as I ducked through the low doorway. The healer had summoned me with a whispered note delivered by a wide-eyed boy: *Come after moonrise. Your... affliction requires examination.*
Affliction. A polite word for the iron-hard rod straining against my trousers since I'd arrived in this cursed valley.
Lira waited inside, silhouetted by the flickering light of a single oil lamp. At forty-two, she was the softest woman in the village—curves piled upon curves, built for comfort and sin. Her J-cup breasts strained the laces of her simple linen dress, heavy and pendulous, swaying with every breath. Wide hips flared beneath, supporting an ass like two ripe jelly mounds—soft, jiggly, the kind that rippled when struck. Her skin was pale and flawless, scented always with lavender from the oils she distilled. Long auburn hair cascaded loose tonight, framing a face with full lips and kind green eyes that hid darker appetites.
She turned as I entered, and those eyes dropped immediately to the obscene bulge in my pants. Her tongue wet her lower lip.
"You came," she murmured, voice husky. "Good. Lock the door."
I did, the click loud in the quiet space. The air already felt thick—her scent mixing with the earthy tang of herbs and something sweeter: the faint musk of her arousal.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to the padded examination table in the center of the room. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with glass bottles of potions and salves, glinting in the lamplight.
I stripped instead. Shirt first, then trousers. My cock sprang free—eleven inches of wrist-thick meat, veined and angry, the foreskin peeled back to reveal a glistening purple head already drooling precum in a steady string. It bobbed heavily, pointing straight at her.
Lira's breath hitched. Her massive tits rose and fell faster, nipples poking hard against the thin fabric of her dress. Between her thick thighs, I could already smell her wetness—sharp and feminine, cutting through the lavender.
"Gods above," she whispered, stepping closer. "It's worse than they said. Or better."
She circled me slowly, professional pretense crumbling. One soft hand reached out, fingers tracing the length from base to tip. Her touch was feather-light, but my cock jerked like it had been struck. Precum smeared across her palm.
"I need to measure it properly," she said, voice trembling. "For... medicinal purposes."
From a drawer she produced a cloth tape, soft and worn. She knelt—her huge breasts compressing against her thighs, nearly spilling from the dress—and wrapped the tape around the thickest part of the shaft.
"Girth... seven inches around," she breathed, eyes wide. Then length: base pressed to my pelvis, tape stretched taut along the top. "Eleven point two inches. Mother's mercy."
Her face was inches from the head now. A fat drop of precum welled and fell, landing with a soft *plip* on her cleavage. She didn't wipe it away.
Instead, she leaned forward and licked it off her own skin, tongue delving into the valley between her tits. Her eyes locked on mine.
"I think I know the cure," she said. "But it will require... deeper examination."
I grabbed a fistful of her auburn hair—not hard, just enough to tilt her head back. Light control. She gasped, pupils blowing wide.
"Open."
Her lips parted eagerly. I fed her the head first, watching those full lips stretch obscenely around the girth. She gagged immediately—the crown too fat for easy entry—but pushed forward anyway, saliva already dripping from the corners of her mouth.
I pulled her hair gently, guiding her deeper. Inch by inch, her throat bulged visibly as she took me. Wet, choking sounds filled the hut—*glurk... gluck...*—mixed with the clink of bottles as I backed her against the potion shelf.
Her hands gripped my thighs, nails digging in just enough to sting. Encouragement.
I started thrusting—shallow at first, then deeper. Her massive tits bounced with every push, jiggling like jelly in a storm. I reached down with my free hand and yanked the front of her dress open. Buttons popped, scattering across the floor.
Her breasts spilled free—enormous J-cups, pale and veined, capped with wide pink areolas and thick nipples already leaking tiny beads of milk. They slapped heavily against her ribs as I face-fucked her harder.
Lira's muffled moans vibrated around my cock. Tears streaked her cheeks, but her eyes begged for more.
I pulled out suddenly, strings of spit connecting her lips to my shaft. She coughed, gasping, then whimpered when I slapped my wet cock against her face—once, twice—leaving shiny trails across her cheek.
"Stand up. Bend over the table."
She obeyed instantly, dress pooling at her feet. Naked now, her body was a feast: that massive, jiggly ass presented high, cheeks parting to reveal a dark curly bush framing plump pink pussy lips—glistening, dripping constantly, juices already trailing down her inner thighs in shiny rivulets. The hair was thick and untamed, matted with her arousal.
I stepped behind her, spreading those jelly-soft cheeks wide. Her asshole winked—tight, pink, untouched. Below, her cunt gaped slightly, hungry, more nectar oozing out in a slow drip.
First, I spanked her—light but sharp. One cheek, then the other. The flesh rippled like waves, turning pink instantly. She yelped, pushing back.
"More," she begged, voice muffled against the table.
I obliged—three quick slaps, each one making her ass jiggle wildly and her pussy clench, squirting a tiny spurt of girl-cum onto the floor.
Then I knelt, burying my face between her cheeks. My tongue attacked her asshole first—circling the tight ring, pushing inside as she squealed. She tasted clean and musky; her hips bucked. While I tongue-fucked her ass, two thick fingers plunged into her sopping cunt—easily, no resistance, just hot velvet walls sucking at me.
She was drenched, hairy lips clinging to my knuckles as I pumped. The wet *schlick-schlick* sounds were obscene.
"Watch," she gasped suddenly.
I looked up. She'd reached over and cracked the shuttered window open a few inches. Moonlight spilled in, and beyond—shadowy figures. Villagers. Drawn by the noise, or perhaps by instinct. Three, maybe four, lurking in the herb garden, eyes wide.
Lira moaned louder, deliberately. "Let them see... let them see what you do to me."
Exhibitionist slut.
I stood, fisting my cock and rubbing the head through her bushy folds. Her pussy lips parted greedily, pink inner flesh glistening. I teased her clit—swollen and peeking from its hood—until she was babbling.
"Please—inside—breed me—"
I sank into her cunt in one brutal thrust.
She screamed—loud enough for the watchers to hear. Her walls clamped down, hairy lips stretched thin around my girth. I bottomed out, balls slapping her clit, the bulge of my cock visible in her soft belly.
Then I fucked her—hard, rhythmic. Each thrust sent ripples through her jelly ass; her massive tits swung beneath, milk spraying in tiny arcs with every impact, splattering the table.
I reached under, pinching her nipples—twisting lightly, just enough pain to make her sob with pleasure. More milk leaked, warm on my fingers.
Anal play next. I pulled out—her cunt gaping, hairy, drooling my precum—and pressed the slick head against her asshole.
"Relax," I growled, tugging her hair back again.
She did, pushing back. The crown popped in with a wet *pop*. Tight—burning hot—her ring clenching spasmodically. I fed her inch by inch, watching her ass cheeks spread and jiggle around the invasion.
Halfway in, she came—hard. Her whole body shook; milk gushed from her tits in steady streams now, puddling on the table. Her asshole milked me rhythmically.
I switched holes—back to her cunt for a dozen thrusts, then ass again, alternating until she was a babbling mess.
Finally, I flipped her onto the table, on her back. Legs spread wide, bushy pussy framed by thick thighs, tits splayed to the sides like overripe fruit.
She mounted me reverse-cowgirl—impaling herself on my cock with a wet squelch. Her jelly ass bounced as she rode, cheeks clapping against my hips. I spanked her lightly in rhythm, hair pulled back like reins.
The watchers pressed closer to the window—I could hear their ragged breathing.
Lira's pace turned frantic. Her hands mauled her own tits, squeezing milk in forceful jets that arced through the air. Her hairy pussy ground against my base, clit mashing, juices flooding my balls.
"I'm—cumming—again—!"
Her final orgasm wrecked her. She slammed down one last time, cunt and ass clenching in waves. Milk sprayed everywhere—across my chest, the table, even the window. Her scream echoed into the night.
I followed, pumping rope after thick rope deep into her womb. So much it overflowed instantly, creamy white bubbling out around my shaft, soaking her bush and dripping down my balls.
She collapsed forward, still impaled, trembling.
Outside, the watchers scattered like startled deer.
Lira turned her head, eyes glazed with satisfaction.
"The affliction... persists," she whispered hoarsely. "We'll need nightly treatments."
I pulled her hair lightly one last time, making her arch.
"Good."