Prose That Blows

Meddle Not (PtB10 entry – Squeezy)

As Dame Francesca’s host drew near

each wearing plates of steel,

the wizard in his feignéd fear

did turn upon his heel.

“You cannot run, you simpering knave,”

the dame called out to him,

“for I have twenty horsemen brave

awaiting, at my whim.”

“You cannot flee, this shall end here,

you’ll answer for your sin,

and for not yet another year

you’ll terrorize my kin!”

The mage stopped on a mound of earth

where he would make a stand,

for he had learned magics of worth

which now leaped from his hand.

The wizard’s spell flew down the hill

and struck her on the arm,

but Dame Francesca’s iron will

forbade it do her harm.

Yet through her body it did flow

and went into her breast;

and that began to slowly grow

making an outward quest.

“Your spell has failed, you fool,” said she,

and neared upon her foe,

“a wizard but in name you be,

and that shall cause you woe.”

The wizard merely stands and waits

and laughs his mirth aloud,

for underneath her armour-plates

he knows her teats stand proud.

As Dame Francesca crests the mound

and bids her troops stand by,

her ears pick up the faintest sound –

no louder than a sigh.

She halts her march and stands fast there,

atop the hill of dirt,

but she cannot pick up just where –

no, wait, it’s in her shirt!

The sound, though faint, is from within

the steel in which she’s girt,

and though the armour is not thin

her nipples feel quite pert.

“What have you done?!” she asks with dread.

The wizard showed his glee.

“You have been ensorcelléd –

my play-thing you do be!”

“You play with THIS, you evil man!”

she drew her shining sword.

but the wizard had a ready plan

and a likewise ready ward.

He called his spell and fires ran,

encircling the two;

and the damsel’s whole supporting clan

had nothing they could do.

They could but watch, as mage and knight

were ringed by magic flame.

But egis-straps were drawing tight

and squeezing the fair dame!

They creaked and groaned and made it known

the body they did gild

was ampler now, and not of bone,

but of a fleshy build.

The Dame drew breath with noble pride

although it pained her chest,

“Curse you, spite on your damnéd hide,

you’ll suffer for this jest!”

She swung her sword, its arc went wide,

and then she dropped the hilt.

“No jest, my dear”, he said, quite snide,

and sans a trace of guilt.

“My spell will fill you up with loft

just as your ego’s flown

for around me you’ll find quite oft

maids grow where pride has grown.”

The spell blew at a wicked pace

into the lady’s core

and soon despite her shame-red face

she’d filled up what she wore.

She could not move and scarcely breathe,

so full of gas was she;

for as her armour did her sheathe,

it would not let her free.

Her arms were stiff, her legs as bad,

she could not move an inch,

and yet still she was armour-clad

and feeling a strong pinch.

She pressed within against her cloth,

which without pressed on steel;

but her suit was still acting loth

to let up its tight seal.

No open place that she could fill

there was within her plate

yet from there came strange noises still –

the charm did not abate.

Her men watched on, as she bulged out

within her tight constraints.

Her human flesh fighting a bout

over the straps’ complaints.

And at long last the skin did win

o’er the creaking leather,

and with great din the straps gave in –

coming off together!

Freed of her suit, she gave a gasp

and filled lungs too with air

but still a sound much like an asp

signalléd more despair.

The thick cloth layer which kept her skin

safe from the strong harsh steel

was now itself coming to thin

as she filled it with zeal.

“O, spare me this,” her pleading cry

fell on uncaring ears,

for magic urging her to fly

cared nothing for her tears.

She bobbed a tad, amongst the bits

that once had been her shield

and finally she called it quits

and yelled, “I yield the field!”

“‘Tis much too late, my bloated dame,”

the wizard answered back,

“for no matter where you set your aim,

you’ll find that weight you lack!

And without weight you cannot stop

yourself from taking flight

you’d best just hope you will not pop

for you are looking tight.”

She did indeed look rather taut

but it was her vesture,

for the spell that the wizard wrought

waited for a gesture.

As the cloth reached capacity

man did bide magic stop;

still lift had a tenacity

which would not let her drop.

The upward force held her in place

a hair above the ground

and her proud face held now no trace

of her resolve renowned.

“And now, my dear, you need not fear,

for I shall set you free,

and you shall leave me behind here;

peace ‘twixt us there shall be.”

With those few words, the evil man

did ‘proach upon her rear

“Oh do not fear, nor look so wan,

did a lie you just hear?

I only seek to free you from

the cloth that binds you tight.

It is stretched like a taut snare-drum

and shan’t put up a fight.”

He brought a knife up to the cloth

where it was stretched so thin

and while Francesca sat there wroth,

a cut the knife did win.

With a loud “shrip!” the fabric parts,

and leaves her floating nude

for underneath her field-mail arts,

she wore nothing – how lewd!

For a second she hung right there

embarrassed and exposed,

and then she started for the air

not even with legs closed.

She was spread wide, her body broad

filled to the brim with gas

her breasts perfect, in no way flawed

although their size was crass.

She opes her mouth to give a plea

as she lifts toward the sky

“If you have mercy unto me,

I shall lift you high!

My lands are yours, my vassals too,

I’ll give you what you want,

and this I promise you for true,

there can be some detente!”

As she lifts, her most female gift

catches the mage’s eye

and he throws out a spell most swift

that strikes next to her thigh.

Her plea cuts short and instead she

lets loose a lustful sound

for as response, that cruel man, he

ensorcelléd her mound.

A shock went from her slit to tongue,

and something happened there,

in both holes formed a type of bung

to hold in her hot air.

Her muffled noise grew softer yet

as she took to the sky

and her host rode after to get

her when she ceased to fly.

Now by himself, the man is free,

alone atop the hill,

“Play not with me, for as you see,

I’ll best you with my will!”

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