I needed Mardha to assist me on the walk to the prayer sanctuary.

We left promptly at Chu’s behest and with just enough time for me to remind my legs that their job was to keep me from stumbling on air. The precarious balancing act would have been arduous enough without my mostly-exposed pussy blasting me with praise and pleasure in memory—or celebration—of Chunali’s previous ministrations. How I hadn’t anticipated Chunali having the best-damned head game seemed silly in retrospect. After all, one does not live on an island full of women with tingling, needy bodies without becoming proficient in the ways of cunnilingus. Then, there were the events at the temple under the cover of night that should have served as ample evidence.

The case was clear that Chunali’s well-coordinated mouth could blow a woman’s mind—and clit—but still, something else was at play; something that sharpened the multiple orgasms into ‘life-altering’ rather than just ‘pleasurable’.

And in my estimation, it was the same thing that added to the difficulty of moving unassisted down the cool halls of the temple; the thing that amplified sex also impaired me.

Or rather, the things. Plural.

I had to contend with the combined weight of my newly-formed breasts—a pair that weighed nearly double what I would have without them.

Mardha was the first to volunteer; grateful and partially culpable for my new size. The curvaceous cream sharer took position under my left arm as we walked through the halls; humoring me with conversation and pointedly ignoring the decorative plants, jars, and furniture our moving wall of knockers knocked over. Appreciative of the architecture, I noted that there was just enough clearance for two Kkarian women to walk side by side. Any wider and the structural integrity of the building itself might have been called into question.

But even with the impressive accommodations, we still managed to leave a trail of fragmented clay, dirty footprints, and flattened foliage in our wake. Sizes were taken into consideration, but not blind spots—which effectively doubles when two hyper milky women have to walk side by side.

Speaking of ‘hyper milky’, Mardha’s chest was still immense after her morning milking and ablutions. Having her for a crutch meant that our breasts constantly battered one another, the outside of Mardha's right blimp playing bumper cars with the outside of my expanded gourd; pink and veiny on my half contrasting a deep, seductive bronze. Each one of our tits was two feet across. Both pairs sloshed vehemently with milk; my secondhand supply raucously playing with Mardha's natural wonders which were, in all likelihood, still producing that sweet, thick deliciousness. Anyone’s efforts at reducing the amount of jiggle, wobble, bounce, or slosh would have been fruitless. So, because Mardha’s mission was just keeping me upright, less attention was paid to how aggressively we came around corners; how short we cut the turns, what poor drawer, stool, or potted plant would be asked to do the impossible by catching our runaway body weights, which wall would be the landing pad for us when momentum pulled us both too far too fast.

Until we reached the wide-open sacrificial sanctuary, no place was safe from our cuddlesome, creamy fronts.

We laughed about it. With each bump or stumble, the other priestesses would giggle at the show going on in their midst. It would have been hard not to appreciate how much rippling and sloshing was taking place even if our tits didn’t regularly ricochet off of the widened stone halls. But since our soft giants made the inner temple look like a game of pinball for the gods, everyone welcomed the fun brought on by our spectacle.

I laughed with the others, noting how playful my chest could be despite its monstrous size.

However, as I participated with the other priestesses’ fun on the outside, my gut was preoccupied.

We were going to see Reffi, after all.

As understanding as the Old One had been, there was no telling how the she would react to my creamy limitations. A lot was riding on this slow, bouncy trek to the sanctuary, more than any of the other priestesses seemed willing to acknowledge.

That excluded Chu and Luula who were both walking just a little behind everyone else. Their slower pace had little to do with Chunali’s recent injury. Instead, the two quietly chatted in Kkarian, keeping their eyes forward, focused on the invisible issue.

Except. . .

What were they talking about? I couldn't know. Not only could I not speak Kkarian, but Chunali’s walls were up again, the stony, forceful face of a leader. Her looks betrayed little, a stark contrast to the way she’d been while alone with me. Her golden eyes had dropped their melty quality, honed to sharp points. Even though she walked with her weight mainly on her uninjured side, it didn’t keep her impressive set of hips from marching forward, even as her mind churned through an endless barrage of possibilities.

Still, the contrast was jarring. We’d been together for hours. The conversations we’d had—about our lives, histories, personalities. So, so personal. I was the last person to feel clingy or possessive over anyone, particularly with sex but also in general, but I was also experiencing love in a way I never had. I couldn’t help but have questions.

Why Kkarian? Why at the back of the group? I already couldn’t understand them, so then why keep a distance? Why choose to be private now after all of that time we’d spent together? What could Chunali be sharing with Luula that she felt she couldn’t even hint at with me?

Fuck. I’m jealous? Since when?

Apparently, good cunnilingus could cause a person that was open about sex and love to consider closing those open borders.

And with Luula of all people? She was a friend, sure, but she’d still been compromised enough to let Chunali get hurt. What could she tell Luula that she couldn’t tell me?

But. . . no. No, Verne.

Chunali grasped the situation. She cared for every priestess—but especially for me. Even with her walls up, I could read her. Even when I couldn’t, I could still count on her.

Such thoughts didn’t produce unshakable confidence, exactly, but it extended far enough that trust in Chunali—my girlfriend, lover, and partner—stretched far enough to span the gorge of insecurity; to lift me above feelings that had gone unacknowledged.

Chunali’s plan had worked so far—moving the gallons of milk I’d drank at the riverside from my tummy to my breasts, each of which was the size of a small hill as a result. Because the combined volume of lady lager was split between my creamy bluffs—along with the liters of leakage that Chunali had helped herself to—my proportions more closely resembled a native Kkarian. Pale, pillowy breasts were less damnable than a single, spherical belly on the Blessed Isles. It wasn’t as obvious to people that I’d committed a taboo by nursing from Mardha.

Which meant I wouldn’t offend the Old Ones; that they wouldn’t decide I was a distraction and danger to Chunali. It bought time—which was what we needed. Time to come up with some way of beating Passha—of saving the Blessed Isles.

Maybe a little to grandiose, especially for how small I actually felt.

Still, trusting made me feel better, moved me from the dark, consuming emotions that had me wanting to just quit. I could cross the deep chasm of misgivings on a bridge formed by faith in Chunali.

Though, looking over the side of that bridge was the same looming pitch as before, never too far off.

There was little left in my power besides facing the music and hoping that we’d done enough. Faith and trust were all that was left.

If everything worked, then great.

If not, I was a stranger and an outsider who had drunk the milk of the local priestesses and stolen the heart of Kkara’s beloved princess. And who could bear to think about the punishment a person would receive for crossing such lines?

The sanctuary was separate from the rest of the temple. Beyond a pebbled gate and down a gravel path, a woman-made crater was cut into the ground. Stone seating was sculpted into the hillside with an abundance of space for extra curves.

Had I been forced to sit in a typical stadium seat as I recalled them, my tits would have been resting on the heads of two additional rows of seated fans.

As the sun retreated from its peak, the area adopted an auburn color, the hardened clays all dried and sanded tediously to a smoothness; an invitation as savvy as a siren to my tired legs. As we hit the start of the stairs, I smelled freshwater; a nearby stream or pond, possibly the one that fed the river that the other priestesses and I had used for morning lavation and milking. With the dense, knotted forest line about fifty yards beyond the clearing and a lack of salt in the air, the temple sacrifice area had a distinct jungle feeling that contrasted the beachy atmosphere on the Spirit Queen’s side of the islands.

At the bottom of the crater was a small platform. It was suitable for about twenty women to stand with excess arm and leg room. This, of course, meant that the platform could comfortably squeeze in about a dozen Kkarians; with their constantly productive nectaries demanding additional accommodation.

Standing with her head bowed and eyes shut was Reffi.

And I couldn't help but begin to salivate at the sight of her.

Couldn't Horny Verne cool her jets for, like, two seconds? Did her blood have to run red hot every time she saw another naked woman even while Regular Verne had a mini-crisis of relationship-sourced jealousy?

Clearly not.

Those presuming that Reffi was just another priestess had sold her short by several degrees of hotness. She was, after all, a head priestess as well as an Old One. She embodied those titles as she muttered a prayer to herself and waited for the other priestesses to bring me up another small flight of stairs to the platform.

A brief but hurried scan of the raised clay structure revealed carved patterns, worn but clear as they wrapped around the edges. Several large pots full of local fauna—green, wine red, spotted petals, and the starting bulbs of fruit—trimmed the edges of the half-moon structure. As for the surface, the platform itself held dishes and trenches, swirling patterns and dips meant to collect fluid. Each channel fed one another in a web of tunnels and trays. Had we not been on the Blessed Isles I might have assumed the carvings were to divert rainwater away from their place of worship, reducing erosion.

But this was the Blessed Isles, a place where anthropological intuition proved to be of limited use and where intuitions of other varieties reigned supreme.

Specifically, Horny Verne’s lesbo-radar pinging Reffi as one of the hottest milfs I’d seen in a long, long time.

Reffi wasn't concealed now. The cloak that I had met her in was gone. The only thing guarding her body was a small lavender-colored skirt that was cut into wide ribbon strips; one down the middle to guard her privates and the others tasseled along her sides. Her tremendous hips were on full display at her sides, flanking her like telephone poles. I thought of all the other bottom-heavy babes I knew. Hannah had quite the tush—even more of one recently thanks to the slow growth she experienced on a milk-centric diet. Chunali, too, had a round, playful booty blending size, definition, and softness into a delightful package.

But Reffi was thicker than Hannah without any obvious advantages from milk drinking. Her muscle tone was just as obvious as Chu’s, if not even more so since her legs were acres long. Her right leg fanned out to the side, putting soft, a soft pillowy thigh on display while the other bore the weight of her upper body and tensed with obvious musculature; an idealistic blend of womanly wiles built atop a foundation of feminine strength.

And that didn't even speak to how rotund Reffi's chest was. Was it my size? No. But it was larger than it had been before. Somehow, hers looked more mature, more womanly than mine or Mardha’s. Where other priestesses had high-sitting, perky breasts, Reffi’s had a smooth pull toward the front of her body. They sat less like globes and more like teardrops, a natural cascade from shoulder to abdomen in two prodigious, squishy bridges. Her posture didn’t tilt a degree off of center even with the forward pull that bottom-heavy boobies created; yet another area of attractiveness. Only years of living with such a body could bless a woman with such poise when two beach ball-sized honkers were in constant fluctuating motion against her torso.

They looked full too, Horny Verne noted while Apprehensive Verne peaked between her fingers at the back corner of my mind. Not full to bursting by any means, but full enough to have something to offer at this session of prayer and offering.

That cloak must have been magical—or blessed or cursed or whatever mystic term applied. I hadn’t underestimated a woman’s curves to the point of speechlessness in a long while.

But here I was, nipples waking up as we approached the woman.

Reffi’s mouth-watering attractiveness caused arousal to stir my insides. My mind fogged like the windows of an excited college couple’s used sedan. When I tried to exert my will over my body, I noticed that the raging, sapphic nymph within was much stronger than usual. And no wonder. On the scraps I normally fed it, it was only strong enough to nag me into sexual situations.

For the past several days, all I’d done was feed my sexual appetite. Instead of bringing it to satiety, the feeding merely caused it to grow, my sexual voracity only deepening such that every other thought concerned the soft, creamy chests of the women nearby.

In this case, it was Reffi whose tits looked the comfiest of all—in no small part because sex with a leggy Kkarian milf would be amazing, but also that turning around to face the other priestesses was beyond me with Mardha still latched onto her left arm.

"Shit," I swore, cursing her matured libido and its unwillingness to see this situation as dire. "Come on me, hold it together."

"You okay?" asked Luula, coming around as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You're bright red. And your nipples are getting longer."

My previous keeper, Opple, muttered harshly. "You better just be excited to give your first offering to the Great Saint."

"I'm excited about something," I muttered, a tremble developing in my? voice; barely contained ardor around yet another sexual prospect.

Then, Chunali placed a hand on the side of my right breast. The wall of glutted tit-flesh barely yielded at all despite what the saccharin, sodden bed linens back in Chu’s room would have insinuated. There was still a ton of milk inside me—plenty remaining even after the spillage she’d inspired in my new milkers just minutes before.

But at the touch of her warm palm, I went rigid. When I saw Chunali trying to soothe me, I gathered up a cooling breath and remembered what I’d settled on as we paraded through the halls:

Just trust the plan. There’s nothing left to do but trust.

"She's going to be alright," Chu nodded, more of a question for me than a statement of fact.

I nodded back, ignorant of how exactly I’d keep such a promise.

Once we were up the set of steps, our caravan of well-endowed babes gathering atop the landing, we let Opple and Chu walk toward the center where Reffi stood. With each step, I rattled off an impromptu mantra: "I am monogamous. I am monogamous. I have a girlfriend and I don't need to fuck hot milfs in my area. Mo-no-ga-mous."

It was, admittedly, not very effective—especially with Chunali’s fat ass slowly walking away paired with Opple’s less-rotund-but-still-sizeable addition.

The two priestesses came to a stop just in front of Reffi. Each bowed with respect, though Chunali’s bend wasn’t as low nor as easy on her body. She suffered through the injury and went along anyhow, determined to show respect.

“Good afternoon, priestesses,” Reffi spoke. The acoustics of such a stage meant Reffi could address every priestess at once without needing to raise her voice. Her words were barely above a whisper. Eyes still closed. “Do you come with your sacrifices?”

“We come,” the two answered, still bowed.

I made a single, short snort at the word ‘come’ before slapping a hand over my mouth and shooting an apologetic face toward Luula’s concerned one.

Then, Reffi uttered a few words in Kkarian; something short, likely repeating the words she’d said in English. Chunali and Opple were faithful servants and echoed Reffi as she spoke. When the trio finished a joint prayer and rose to face one another, Reffi’s eyes opened.

“Did you bring your charge, Opple?” she asked, her face perfectly serene.

Had she been wearing clothes, they might have concealed the muscles tightening in Opple’s back and shoulders. The topic of her charge left her significantly less serene than Reffi. “Yes, I did.”

“How did she do with the morning—. . . Hmm,” Reffi replied, finding her answer before she could finish the question.

The air froze as the older woman’s dark eyes passed between Chunali and Opple toward the edge of the platform. Of all the comely women on the island who would have been easier to look at—Mardha on my left, Luula on my right, and several in the stone seating behind us—Reffi’s eyes fell on me.

Serenity slipped off Reffi’s face like her cheeks had been greased. She blinked audibly. Blink. Blink. Pause. Blink.

“I-I can explain, Reffi,” Opple blurted.

“Please. . . do?”

“Umm. . . Well, you see.”

Since calm confidence was demanded, it was no surprise that Chunali came to the rescue. “This morning, Verne saw Mardha having some trouble relieving her burden. We all know how much she’s been struggling with it lately—with how thick her offerings have been getting. When Verne saw the need in her holy sister, however, she didn’t just sit idly by. She assisted Mardha.”

"Assisted," Reffi said. Pause. Blink. "Assisted. . ." Somehow, all the while, Reffi kept her voice level; all emotional hints remained ambiguous.

Opple wisely assumed said emotions were souring. She stammered excuses like little prayers, all in frantic Kkarian. It hurt to watch the pleading in her eyes as she spoke to the Head Priestess, and I would have turned away if I felt I could do so without toppling over. As removed as Opple pretended to be, she clearly cared a lot about her position as a priestess and the duty that had been imparted to her by Reffi.

I shouldn't have been so careless.

After not speaking and not moving for a length of time, Reffi slowly shook her head. As if she were a statue come to life, the unexpected motion shut Opple up immediately.

"She drank Mardha's milk?"

"Yes, Reffi," Chu answered—because Opple’s motor mouth was sealed shut by the question.

"And you allowed that?"

"I wasn't around to allow anything. And she isn’t my charge. She can do whatever she sees as best."

"And are you. . . okay with it?"

My ears perked at this. Even I wondered what Chunali thought about my numerous excursions into promiscuity. Did she turn a blind eye? Or were there feelings that were unexpressed? Chu was skilled at evading the topic altogether, deliberately refraining from picking one side or the other.

Her weapon of choice was usually flirtation. However, since the one asking about this was Reffi instead of me, she couldn’t rely on past strategies.

Unless she started seducing Reffi, which Horny Verne would have liked to see.

The rest of me pined for an answer that would fill in some of the insecurity sinkholes that had nearly swallowed me on the way over.

Chunali’s arms were folded behind her back. She raised her chin and spoke. "I truthfully don't mind it. As a priestess, I see it as her duty to take care of the people around her, meeting needs as she sees them. Mardha had a legitimate need, so I have no trouble with her acting in such a manner to—. . ."

Chunali’s perfectly manicured answer laid beheaded among the crowd of busty witnesses.

"And what of you personally, princess? What of your heart?" Reffi's words were fainter. Although she looked too young to be a mother, her word spoke to a part of Chu’s well-being that went deeper than their shared religion and culture.

Still, I was thankful that Reffi skillfully redirected the ship of conversation back on course. She didn’t tolerate Chu’s attempts to shy from the conversation.

"So long as her heart is with me," Chunali stilted her speech so every word came out only after a generous amount of consideration. "I don't mind where Verne's body goes. She's my partner, not my slave. I don't get to tell her how to feel or how to manage those feelings. I certainly will not stand in the way of the woman I love getting what she needs—or even what she wants. I just. . . want to know I'm part of it."

By the end, I could tell I’d been wrong about Chunali. Now, if I looked back on those moments in the hallway, the tension on her face, and the metal in her eyes, I wouldn’t have landed on the assumption that she was sternly considering her options, let alone conspiring against me. No, the hiccuping speech just now divulged the princess’s fussiness over issues of her heart. It made no sense for a member of royalty, status, and clear consideration from her peers to get all nervous about such a thing but, the way Chu squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head back and forth proved, if nothing else, that admitting she desired me—in matters that pertained to breast milk in addition to daily life—in front of so many peers made her nervous.

It was so damned cute.

"That's a good girl," Reffi answered, placing a hand on Chunali’s back to rub at a tender spot. "And it would be okay if you said you were jealous as well—…"

"Well, that's great to hear, but I'm not. She really can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants so long as she comes back to me,” Chu blurted, jerking her head away from the senior priestess.

A smirk came naturally to my face. It felt so damned good to know she felt that way.

Reffi continued, a new line of questioning angled in my direction. "So then, Verne. Will you come back to her? Will you make sure to include her, never leaving her out when you’re looking to resolve your ‘feelings’?"

An easy answer, given that I’d just witnessed the Princess of Kkara getting as close as her skin tone would allow to a character-breaking blush on my behalf.

There was also the fact that, of course, I loved her.

"I'll do more than that. I'll make sure to put her first. She'll always have a place with me, and I hope the same is true for her."

At the words, Chu’s braided blonde hair laid down over her bowed head. A slight bend to her lips was the only thing visible from where I stood, several feet away.

"Congratulations then, Verne,” Reffi replied, elbow cocked at an angle as a fist dug into her soft, wide hip. “You have passed the first trial."