By Liz “Greetings, brave hero…”
By Liz
“Greetings, brave hero…” purred the priestess, sarcasm dripping from every word.
The man facing her, clad in thick plate mail crowded with a forest of spikes, shifted warily. She had expected this for a long time now. When the Order of the Dwindling Bra had first heard of the threat from the north, they had convened to decide what to do. Months of planning and preparation had led to this, a plan that combined the best ideas of their most brilliant tacticians.
“What is the meaning of this, heathen wench?”
The mans voice was distant and echoing, as though he were yelling at her from the bottom of a well. The clanking of his armor almost drowned out the words as he put a hand on his sword.
“I knew you would come for the Staff of Seas, thief. So come, take it! I won’t stop you…”
The armored knight scoffed, half-drawing his weapon before thinking better of it. Take it? Just like that? He knew better than to trust the harlot whore-maidens of these blaspheming lands, but…there she was. Unarmored, no weapons…Could it be so easy?
The man reached out with a massive gauntlet, greed evident in his panting, eager breathing. Soon, the staff would be his! But- What? Vile magery! He found his hand trembling, unable to make contact with the staff. Sweat beaded on his brow.
“Argh! What is this, wretched Jezebel?! What spell have you cast on me?”
The priestess laughed, her breasts heaving and rolling in a way that defied physics and twisted the eye. The sly grin that split her face was wolfish and smug.
“What’s the matter, knight? There is no enchantment…take it!”
“I…I can’t! You lie, there is some sort of wicked sorcery in play. I know it!”
Again, the woman let loose a tinkling laugh. The staff shook and quivered alongside her ample bosom.
“No, foolish man. You know it isn’t so. There’s something else stopping you…”
“N-no…”
“A weakness you thought hidden from us…”
“NO!”
With a triumphant smile, the woman leaned forward, almost putting the knights eye out with the staff. And still he did not reach for it.
“You, like all your fellow Marsh River Acolytes, are afraid…”
The knight stumbled back, shaking his head. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, though his mouth still formed soundless denials.
“…of girls.”
He fell to his knees, shaking a gauntleted fist at the sky.
“NOOO! I’VE TOTALLY TOUCHED BOOBS BEFORE! THEY FELT LIKE BAGS OF SAND! SAAAAAND!”
His wails pierced the sky, mingling with the gleeful laughter of the Breast Witch. To the last, the Acolytes were virgins, and the power of the cleavage which they so loved and hated would be their downfall.