Meddle Not

Date Written: 
09/30/2013

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!”

Author's Note: 

Prose That Blows X Entry.

I wanted to see if I could write a passable story under some "squeezy" constraints.

Turns out I couldn't. The word limit and the meter were both very restrictive. Rhyming, on the other hand, was comparatively easy even with the rigid ABAB structure.

I hope the next contest has a higher word count; I'd rather flesh a story out, but here there was barely room for the bits pertaining to the contest theme.

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Average: 4 (5 votes)
kidquetzal
I love this! Great work and I

I love this! Great work and I look forward to seeing anything else you do.

http://kidquetzal.deviantart.com/