The Magic Ring, Pt 5 by Plowjack The Red-Headed Witch Torwyn crested the rise. Below him lay his goal, the encampment of the witches. Hitching up the pack on his back, he trudged the last half-mile into the valley below. The young Saxon came in answer to the Call, that was gathering all the people of the Old Way for a great sabbat - a feast and a revel and a sacred work of magic. He had walked for three days to get here, and was glad for the sight of his journey's end. By noon he had found a tenting place on the edge of the camp, kindled a small fire, and changed from his rough traveling gear into a light tunic and breechclout. Slinging his small harp across his shoulder, he walked out into the gathering. Many hundreds seem to have answered the Call, the woods filled with small camps. Saxons and Welsh together, all come because they had heard of a magic that might drive the Norman, Baron Robert de Plante, from the land. That knight, man of the conquering William the Bastard, was milking the wealth from the land, imprisoning the flower of saxon manhood, and breeding himself and his men with their noble daughters. Strength in arms had failed the Saxons, and now they were ready to turn to sorcery. The folk seemed lively, as early sunset cast its strange half-light through the wood. Many wore little clothing, many dressed in bright colors, as they gathered at fires, painted their faces and bodies, ate, drank and made merry. Across the vale the sounds of drums and pipes echoed. As he made his way out of the wood into the meadow, he raised a hand in greeting to the folk that he knew. Torwyn was a skald - a poet-singer, and teller of tales - and he regularly tramped the countryside, taking his craft from town to farm to castle. As a minstrel he found welcome everywhere, carrying news and rumor throughout the shire, making many friends along the way. He saw many familiar faces among the Pagans and Witches that had come to the Sabbat. Torwyn heard his name called from behind. He turned, and saw a lovely young woman heading his way. She stood perhaps two inches shorter than Torwyn's lanky frame, her shoulders and hips broad. Her dark red hair flowed down her back in curls, hung over her chest in braids. She was dressed only in a short linen skirt, and she carried a long, steel-bladed spear with a short, heavy dirk at her belt. Her limbs were thick, smooth and round, eyes blue, lips red. After a moment of confusion, Torwyn recognized her as the daughter of a rich miller from a village some distance away. She had been barely 17 when he had seen her last, nearly a decade ago. He greeted her with a smile, "Hail, Sigreda Stensdaughter." As he watched her walk toward him, he was moved by her beauty and grace - she was like a lioness, padding toward him. He recalled how the gawky, tall girl had attended his every song and tale in that village's ale-house, making herself his constant companion when she could. Now he saw her lips part, moist, and her eyes shine. Torwyn opened his arms to hug the girl, and she threw her arms around him in turn. Their lips met for a quick kiss, but then they seemed drawn together as if by magic, and he found himself kissing her sweetly, her lips responding hungrily. He felt the tall woman's big arms tighten around him, holding his body to hers, pressed together warmly. He marveled a bit at his luck, but then just kissed the lovely girl in his arms. Drawing his lips back a little, he saw her smiling and said "Maiden, I could keep at that all day." She pressed her lips to his again, and answered "That would be very well with me, Bard Torwyn." But she released his head, and put her hands on his chest. "You must be newly come from the road, sir," she said, "would a cup of ale be welcome?" He gladly said that it would, and she took his hand in hers, shifting her spear. Her hand was slender, but hard as whipcord, as she pulled Torwyn back to her camp. Sigreda explained that she was now a priestess of the witches of her village, and so she had a place in the work before them. They came to her tent and cooking fire, and there were several women there, making the place and themselves ready. She dipped him a cup of ale from the cask, and one for herself, and handed him a small loaf of bread. As they ate and drank, they talked. He told her of his travels through the region, and she spoke of her education, and her choice to live as a warrior woman, free from a husband. He spoke of the oppression and despair caused by the Baron Robert, and at the mention of the Baron's name, Sigreda spat onto the earth. She explained that she was one of the women who had taken up arms at the call of Aedwina, the priestess of the town of Merrivale "But what's the use in that," asked Torwyn, sipping the brown ale, "surely women can't defeat the warriors of Robert's guard." The red-head's eyebrows lifted, and she smiled a little. "Many men have thought so, singer. I have slain three myself." she reached over and took his hand, and placed it on her right arm. She flexed her arm, and he felt her flesh swell and harden. He squeezed and petted her arm, and she smiled broadly and said, "I'm stronger than half the men of my village, and my warrior skills are as honed and sharp as my spear." "So then, have we been called here for a gathering of warriors?" Torwyn asked, allowing his hand to wander up to her shoulder and neck. He was amazed at the thick, solid muscle there. She reached over to squeeze his own shoulder, and he flinched a little as her grip seemed to crush his flesh. She quickly released him, and stroked and squeezed more gently. "Not just warriors, plainly," she grinned, "since you haven't the flesh for it, have you?" Torwyn blushed, and pulled back a little, only to find the big woman's hand holding his arm firmly. Her blue eyes gleamed hot, and she pulled him to her lips again with no resistance from him. He forgot any embarrassment as she wrapped her arms around him. She pressed him to her, and he squeezed her in turn, feeling her hard, slender back, her round, hard shoulders. He felt his manhood stir. "Well, well, Sigreda, you've wasted no time, have you?" a sweet female voice called. The two travellers looked up, and standing just outside her camp was a woman. She was tall, though not so tall as the red-head and she was both voluptuous and powerfully muscular. Like many at the gathering she was nearly naked, dressed only in a slight breechclout and a band of cloth tied around her big breasts. Her brown hair was tied back tightly, and she smiled broadly at the pair. "Suzanne!" the red-head squealed, and lept up, leaving Torwyn to catch his balance. The two young women hugged, Sigreda taller, but her friend obviously thicker and more muscular. "Suzanne," Sigreda said, as her hands found the other's stony biceps, "where did you come by this?" Suzanne chuckled and raised an arm her biceps swelling into a peak; Sigreda squeezed gently, then harder. "Never have you had such strength, girl!" Sigreda kneaded the younger woman's shoulders, as Torwyn strolled over to them. He knew Suzanne as well, from days of singing in her village's tavern - she had never looked like this! "True spoken," Suzanne answered, "It is the gift of the Goddess, Sigreda. Tonight we will all learn more." She hugged Suzanne again, and bowed to the bard, saying, "I just stopped by to welcome you, in the Priestess' name, and now, I'll welcome you also, Master Skald. Pretty men are always welcome, is it not so, Sigreda?" She caught the other woman's eye, and both giggled. The women knew that, years earlier, they had thought Torwyn the Bard the sexiest fellow in the barony. Any of them would have given him their maidenhead, but he had been kind and honorable, and never within their reach. Years later now, Sigreda had told Suzanne that she hoped the singer would come to the sabbot. Now it seemed Sigreda had the handsome singer not just in reach, but in hand. The two watched the young amazon walk away, and Torwyn found his hand snaking around the red-head's firm waist. But she took his hand in hers and removed it, and said, "Truly, Torwyn, I'm not fit for hugging. I've just come from my spear-work, and I must bathe before the Sabbat begins." She kissed him quickly, "Would you join me?" "I could surely use to wash away the dirt of the road, Lady," Torwyn replied, and they headed off to the pool and waterfall where some of the gathering bathed. It was only moderately crowded, most folks swimming leisurely in the pool downstream. Sigreda took the bag of soap and steeped into the pool wetting her hair in the little falls. "Join me, Master Singer..." she smiled at him, and he splashed into the pool, grinning. He wet himself down, and they both soaped up rags. For a moment they began washing themselves, then she grinned at him, and threw her arms around him, washing his chest from behind. Slippery with soap, he quickly turned in her arms to face her, and began washing her back in turn. Pressed naked against each other, waist-deep in cool water, Torwyn's cock began to rise. Blushing and glancing at the folk downstream, he pushed her gently away, but she ran her hands up his arms and held on tight. "OOhhh" she cooed, "you're so tall and strong, Master Bard." She washed him all over then, in a workmanlike way. As she scrubbed, she squeezed and kneaded his muscles, like a hound she was assessing. He flexed and stretched under her hands, enjoying her ministrations. "Now me, sir," she said, handing him the soap. He washed her in the same way, and she grinned at him, flexing her hardened limbs under his hands. "I'm strong too, Torwyn," she teased, as she raised a hard biceps under his hand. he hesitated at her breasts, but she guided his hands over them, and he lost his hesitancy directly. As he finished, she stepped back into the waterfall. Torwyn watched the icy water flow over her high, firm breasts and down her hard belly, arms flexing as she rinsed her hair. She grabbed his wrist and swung him into the falls, and he stretched in the spray. As he finished he realized that she was grinning at him from where she stood, wringing out her hair. He looked down at his body and realized that, trail-hardened though it was, he looked almost slight next to the warrior girl. They climbed out of the pool together, and joined Sigreda, to towel dry. Again they played with each other's bodies, and now it seemed that Sigreda used more force. Torwyn had to set himself to keep his balance, and he grinned and tussled back, shaking her a little. She hardly moved, his shake having no effect. It was obvious that though he was a little larger and a little heavier than the woman, his limbs and chest and thighs seemed slender next to hers. She pulled him to her naked form, flesh cool and damp, lips soft and warm. He threw his arms around her and held her tight. He plunged his mouth down onto hers, and she seemed to melt in his arms for a moment. They laughed, and seemed to decide that it was the moment to unclench. Torwyn reached for his light linen tunic, and tied his breachclout. When he turned around, Sigreda had put on a soft, light shift that hid, essentially, nothing of her lovely body. Hand in hand they climbed the hillside back to Sigreda's camp. they stopped on a flat place for a moment, and she stood on her tip-toes to kiss him, making herself a little taller than him. She wrapped her thick arms around him and chuckled,"I'm not used to kissing someone taller than me." She squeezed him tight, and he squeezed hard back, still feeling like she was testing his body. When they reached the camp, Torwyn decided that he would take this young warrior in hand. Torwyn was not one of the small men who sometimes served the witches in the Sabbat. He liked to ride his women, and he imagined a fine fast ride on this mare. He took her in his arms for a kiss, and pressed her small, firm breasts to his chest. He kissed her deeply, she moaned a little, and he felt her long arms snake around his body. She pulled her lips back a little and smiled, and said, "A nice squeeze, Bard - you're not so soft after all, eh?" She squeezed him tighter, her breasts flattened against him as her chest hardened. He squeezed back, but didn't seem to make much impact, then she seemed to relax into his squeeze a little, her back less stony-hard, and his dick rose as she kneaded his own back. She kissed him warmly, and sighed, "So you like a little tussle, do you, sweet Torwyn?" Suddenly she tightened her arms, and shook him hard. Torwyn felt like a rat in a terrier's jaws, taken off-balance, and shaken hard. He whooped and laughed, and found his feet. He blushed again, and looked at her sheepishly. he said "Oh my dear, I think that you can take it well enough..." She arched an eyebrow in surprise and grinned, saying "Oh yes, Torwyn, I can take anything you can give." They arrived at the camp, and, with the sun now down it was time to go to the place of the sabbat. They both had their duties, Torwyn to harp and sing for the rites, and Sigreda to speak, and make offerings, and dance. So they dressed in their simple single robes, kissed again, and she gazed into his eyes, asking him if he would be for her in the revel. He smiled hot at her, and said "Well, you shall be for me, in any case, lovely one." "We'll see..." she replied. The center of the great meadow had been prepared for the rite. At the high point of the meadow, on a little hill, a shrine had been built, bearing the idol of Maeve and the Pretty Man, surrounded by lights, and flowers, and incense. Around that high shrine were arranged a great pile of rugs and pillows. In the very center burned a great bonfire, as tall as a man. Around it stood tables laden with food and drink, all brought by the folk for the great feast. The witches gathered in their hundreds, as the bards began a slow droning chord, a heart-beat rhythm. All found their places, in a great circle, left open at the shrine. And there, at the shrine, stood the priestesses and priests. All came naked to the rite, men and women, their bodies strong and sensual in the firelight. In their center was Aedwinna, the High Priestess. Torwyn knew her well, and now he marvelled again for, just as with Suzanne, the middle-aged woman glowed with muscle, shone with vitality, looking taller and stronger than Torwyn had ever known her. She towered over the Priest, the blacksmith the villagers called the Captain, as she began the rites. The rest of the witches fanned out, and the rites of opening were done, the place made holy, the Old Powers honored in the way that they all knew. And as was their custom, they hallowed the great feast, and all the ale and mead, and they hallowed their own bodies, and they began to enjoy the delight of the Gods. They ate and drank, the bards played and the folk danced. Torwyn played the rolicking highnotes of the dance on his harp, and the women whirled before him, responding to his play. Sigreda came and danced before him, her work in the rite done. She was naked, but covered in golden armlets and anklets, with bells in her hair and rouge on her nipples. Her feet flew, and she leapt high into the air, responding to ever note of his harp, her eyes glowing. Her limbs flexed, her hard muscles clearly working as she kicked up her heels and twirled. Torwyn stood, and his cock stood further, as he played harder and faster, driving the red-headed amazon to more athletic turns. Finally the reel came to an end and, with a flourish, she bowed to him, and he, then to her. His fellow Bards applauded, as did a few of the crowd who had seen. Then their gaity was sliced by the sound of horns, blown from the great shrine. All eyes turned to the shrine, and Torwyn felt his wrist gripped hard by the woman, her arms pumped, sheened with sweat. He grinned at his colleagues, and set his harp on his seat, allowing himself to be dragged toward the Shrine by the girl. Arms around one another's waist, she spoke to him, "Listen my sweet, the lady wishes us priestesses to make love before the altar... will you come with me, sweet man?" He swept her into his arms and kissed her hard, and she pulled him along to the ring of rug and pillows. There he saw a dozen other couples assembling, eac making a nest in the soft things, just as Sigreda did for them. They lay down, but Sigreda put her hand on his chest, saying, wait. A second blast on the horns by the priests, and the witch Suzanne stepped up to the dais, with a tall, slender man beside her. Aedwinna came with her, and she began to sing, in a clear, bright voice. It was a hymn of praise to the Goddess, and Torwyn was surpised to see Suzanne lift her man in her two arms, pressing her lips to his. "She's so strong, Torwyn," Sigreda cooed, and started to climb on top of him. "It makes me hot, sweet bard" she got her knees on either side of him, and pulled his tunic off, leaving him naked beneath her. "I want you under me, pretty man," she growled, and kissed him hard. His cock rose, and he wrapped her in his arms pressing her to him, bending her at the waist. After a few minutes, she pressed her pussy down onto his cock, and she was riding him, even as he controlled her with his arms. Torwyn's head pointed to the shrine, and his eyes were filled with the red-head's beauty. But Sigreda could reach out a hand to touch the center of the dais, and watched as Suzanne played with her lover. She lowered him to the rugs in her arms, and pressed his chest, holding him down with one big hand, then she tickled him hard for a minute. He squirmed and thrashed, but he was clearly helpless, his body, sleek and muscular as it was, soft and slender next to the beautiful amazon's. This made Sigreda flow with lust, sliding over Torwyn's cock, and she found his arms with her hands, squeezing his arms and trying to pull herself out of his crushing hold. She managed to push herself out, and she pressed the man's arms to the rugs, putting her whole weight on his undersized biceps. She slammed her hips down onto the bard, and his eyes closed, seemingly near surrender, but he grabbed her wrists in turn, and they tussled, locked in sex. She looked up, and saw Suzanne stuff her lovers head between her legs, him on his back, pinned under her shins, cock standing in the air. The priestess Aedwinna had the Captain's head trapped between her huge thighs, and she leaned over to take the man's thighs in a crushing grip, and his cock in her mouth. Suzanne knelt over the man's face, eye's closed, fingers playing with nipples, a large ring her only adornment beyond her powerful muscles. As Sigreda squirmed on Torwyn's hips, finding herself able to control him easily, she looked down on him and grinned, licking her lips. "See, Master Bard," she said giving him a look like a cat gives a mouse, "You are for me, your slender, pretty body mine to use." She plunged her lips down onto his, then bit his neck hard, making him whimper and buck under her. She pressed her pussy along the length of his shaft, and in a moment she came hard on him, squeezing him in her softness even as she crushed his arms under her weight. Torwyn closed his eyes and used the skill of his mind to restrain his own orgasm - he had decided he would come on top of this saucy girl, if he could! Now he took his chance and, as she shook with her coming, he rolled her off of him, his cock still in her. For a minute they tussled again, then lay side by side for a bit, their lips pressed together, squeezing each other firmly. Then Sigreda's magic-trained senses alerted her, and she whispered to Torwyn to look at the couple in the center. Suzanne, eyes closed, head back, was coming. her hips ground on the face of her lover, and her nipples grew hard. As she gasped, all could see, shining from the ring on her right hand, a silver-white light, like unto moonlight. It shone from her, but it also shone into her, seeming to kindle her flesh from within. And, as her orgasm shook her flesh, she began to grow. Her legs lengthened and thickened, her torso broadened, her shoulders widening. Her already-full chest lifted and expanded, her back thickening, her chest hardening under her growing bosom. She stretched and flexed, and her arms swelled like melons. Torwyn looked down, and saw that the slender man was still sucking the giant, and another wave of light flowed through her. The light flowed out from her, flowed through the man's flesh as well, and into the flesh of the priestess who now drank the come from his cock. She, too began to glow with the sorcerous moonlight, and Torwyn was amazed to see her muscles swell as well, though not like the giant witch's body. Sigreda reached out a hand and the priestess reached out to grasp it. Sigreda slipped a leg under Torwyn, and threw the other one over him, as the light flowed into her from the High Priestess. On the other side, another couple made contact with her other hand, and a witch sat on the cock of the captain, his face trapped between the priestess' thighs. Torwyn felt a rush of tingling, warm-cool power flow from Sigreda's lips to his, making his body feel strong and his cock spring to full rock-hardness. Then he felt a rush of fear, for he seemed to be becoming smaller, shrinking in the hard arms of the witch. His head moved down her chest a few inches, his chest seemed to shrink into her bosom, his waist now crushed between her thighs. She pulled him on top of her, one arm above her head still connected with the priestess. Under the giant Suzanne, the man sucked skillfully, and another wave of light and power flowed out from the giant woman. She moaned, like a quiet roar, and pulled a man from the rugs, to hold his cock to her mouth, his body held high above the ground. The tingling flow came again, and now he understood - he wasn't shrinking, Sigreda was growing! Now her arms flexed, crushing him to her, and he felt her breasts expand, her chest harden. She lay on her back and opened her legs, and Torwyn climbed onto her, finding his cock sufficient to fill her pussy, even as her hips grew around it. He lay on her, his lips just reaching her throat, and held on to her big, firm chest. She wrapped her legs around him, and bucked, throwing him around with the strength of her thick thighs, slamming him into her with her heels, as she trapped his head under a much-widened hand, pressing his mouth to one nipple, that swelled a little even as he sucked. Her ankles drove his butt into her hips hard, then she pressed him against her, and he felt her pussy grip and milk him. He came hard in her, and he was on top, but he felt like a helpless thing, trapped in her powerul limbs, his cock milked and squeezed. On the meadow, the assembled crowd had watched in amazement. They had seen the beautiful young witch grow to a ten-foot-tall avatar of their Goddess, using pretty little men as she pleased. They had been inspired to begin their feasting and loving and dancing, as they saw the white moon-fire of the Goddess flow out of the giantess. Then suddenly, the moon-fire brightened, doubled, tripled. Some would later come to understand that all the witches in the great magical machine assembled at the shrine had come, together, in that moment. Others only felt the flow of that magic into their flesh... where before physical contact had been needed, now the light flowed freely throughout the sacred space, flowing into the flesh of every woman and every man. Across the meadow, women felt their bodies grow stronger, harder, a little taller. Men felt their cocks grow stiffer, and their own bodies become stronger as well. Many would discover that they were no longer stronger than the women they lay with. A farmer finds that his 40-year old wife can lift him and carry him into the high grass. A 17-year-old finds he cannot escape from the legs of his sweetheart. Those making love at that moment are the most strongly affected, the women gaining size and muscle rapidly, pulling their men into and under them with new strength. All who feel the light are lead to fall to the grass and seek a partner, the women gaining in aggression as they gain in strength, the men pressed against newly hard bodies. On the dias, Torwyn watched as the Giantess, shining with silver fire pulled her little lover's face from between her legs, and rubbed him up over her body forcing his head between her huge breasts, to gather him into her arms and bring his lips to hers. The Ring on her hand glowed bright, but the light now clearly came from her eyes, from her heart, from her pussy. She seemed, in fact, the Goddess Herself, made flesh among her witches. All this Torwyn saw, as he lay wrapped in the long, strong arms and legs of the red-headed witch. An hour ago, he had been at least as strong as the lovely amazon. He had lusted to have her beneath him, to make her soft for him. Now she looked down into his eyes where he lay pressed into her greatly-grown bosom, her face clearly larger than his, her lips red and soft, blue eyes sweet. She cupped his head in her hand and kissed him softly, saying "My sweet bard... now you are mine, indeed." His mind reeling, Torwyn resisted, turning his head and pushing at her shoulders. Her big hand took his head firmly, and turned his lips to hers. With one hand she took his wrist, and effortlessly pinned it over his head. She threw a leg over him, and pressed his hips to hers, and she kissed him hard and deep, until he stopped struggling, and moaned softly in her arms. She released his wrist, and ran her hand down his arms, kneading his own muscles like dough under her thumb. 'This is the Goddess' gift, Torwyn - that it should be women who break the rule of the Baron, women filled with the strength of Maeve." Now Torwyn, who had wanted her soft beneath him, could only look up at her with awe and lust, and mold his body to her harder flesh. A look of annoyance crossed her lovely face, and she raised her other arm, her weight on Torwyn's wrist. Torwyn saw that one of her golden armbands was now cutting painfully into the flesh of her upper arm. The red-head flexed her arm, and in a moment Torwyn saw the golden band bend, and spread, as her biceps swelled and peaked. Releasing his wrist, Sigreda pouted a little, and said, "Would you pull that off, sweeting?" He raised himself up, and ran his hand over her flexed arm, to grip her armring. Amazed at how high her muscle was piled, he bent the fairly soft gold away from her flesh. He put his face against her arm, and rubbed the biceps with his cheek, dropping the forgotten bauble as he hugged and kissed her powerful arm. She gathered him to her broad chest, and reached between his legs. She cupped his balls, and found his softened cock, kissing him as she worked his flesh. The silver light shone on them, and his cock grew stiff in seconds. She gently laid him on his back, and lowered herself onto his rod. She ran her hands up his chest, and squeezed his nipples firmly, then took his biceps in her big hands and pinned him under her arms and chest, as she began to ride him hard. "Mmmm... you won't come for hours now, my man... but I will..." She shuddered, and Torwyn could see the light accumulate in her flesh, and felt the tingle in his own. She grew again, a little, before his eyes, her breasts pressed upward on thicker muscle, her shoulders, broadening above him. She smiled a wild smile, and slammed herself hard on him, rocking him back and forth as she loved him, and crushed him, and took him to heaven. There on the hill, they made the light of the Ring's magic. ********************************************************** As the morning light rose over the meadow, Torwyn wasn't sure whether he was really waking up, or just able again to make sense of the images before his eyes. The face of a woman came into focus before him, and he recognised her as the blonde priestess who had worked in the rite, sleeping facing him on the rugs. Then he noticed that he could not really move, and realized that his arms were trapped by the arms of his lover, the Red-Headed witch who had used him like a toy last night. Her big leg was over his hips, it's weight pressing him to the earth. He stretched a little, squirming in her arms, and she murmered softly. He felt her lips on his shoulder, and then on his neck. Her arms loosened, and he rolled over to face her, his eyes at her neck. She pressed him to her, and lowered her big lips to kiss him deeply. Images of the previous night flooded into him, and he held his breath, waiting to see if he was awakening from a dream. He said as much to the now-mighty Sigreda, as she slid him upward to latch her mouth onto his nipple. She said "No, my dear, it was no dream, nor nightmare either, I hope..." She licked and sucked his nipple, and he flet like she was moving his body at will - he felt small in her big hands. He gasped and squirmed, but she clamped his butt in her hand andwrapped a big hand around his arm, squeezing his biceps as she held him still. She lay her big chest on his legs, and slid down further, then she looked up at him, and said "You're so soft to me now! I feel so strong, Torwyn!" Even as he flexed, feeling stronger than ever before, her grip crushed his flesh, and he moaned and squirmed again. "Sigreda!" he gasped, "please..." She relaxed her grip, and took his cock in her mouth. Gripping his butt hard, she pressed him into her mouth, making him hard in seconds. Still kneading his biceps like clay, she brought him to orgasm swiftly, and held him until he was small and soft in her mouth. Then she released him, and sat up gracefully on her haunches. The already-amazonic Sigreda had grown remarkably during the night. Torwyn guessed that she must now be nearly seven feet tall, her long legs pulled under her as she towered over him where he lay. Her shoulders were broad over her thick chest, her breasts high, and fuller than before. She looked sleek and smooth, but, then, she stretched and yawned, and her muscles leaped into relief, her arms huge, her belly ridged, her back widening as her shoulders hardened. Torwyn tore himself from the ground, and embraced the giant warrior. He, himself had grown a few inches, but he was still slight and slender next to the powerful body of the witch. "This is the Goddess' gift, Sigreda, isn't it..." he asked as he looked around. All over the field, couples were awakening, or coming in from the woods. Tall strong women lead or carried their men toward the fire. "Look, Torwyn," Sigreda said, and pointed at the central shrine. There, the Giantess and her little lover sat enthroned, her face smiling, his face pressed into her huge bosom. "It's the very image of Our Lady, present among us. Now we have an army of the strong, the blessed, to march against the oppression that is upon us. If we dare to wait another moon, who can say how strong we might become!" She took him by his slim-seeming shoulders, and pushed him down toward her lap. Now you must return that morning favor, little, one, and then I shall carry you to the feet of the Goddess, my prize. Torwyn found his face pressed to Sigreda's pussy, and he forgot all, again, for a time.