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There's an unusual stillness in the air.
The house breathes under her feet, as if alive. Lilia could sense it from a mile away, the space in which a witch lives integrated within their being. She places the key on the lock nonetheless, taking off her shoes before closing the door behind her.
It’s not uncommon for the wooden floor and moss green walls to feel heavy, bubbling with magic underneath. The permanence of three powerful beings under the same roof making the place absorb their energies. It’s easy, then, for her to ignore the atypical tranquility. Her exhausted body welcoming the unfamiliar warmth in the air.
The afternoon had been long. Looking for a new address with the current amount of money she had saved served to be a challenge, the eviction notice haunting her thoughts every time she thought of going over her budget. The various places she had visited for the day were barely big enough for a bedroom, let alone sufficient to accommodate her shop - and only source of income. Without her readings, her reserved funds were burning faster than the material they were made of.
Her budget was lowering as the weeks went by.
“Agatha?” The divination witch calls out, voice reverberating on the dark empty hallways, unanswered.
The lack of response doesn’t bother her, shouting for the sake of announcing her presence was a habit she had long picked up when arriving home - a lesson learned after catching her housemates on compromising positions a few dozen times.
Her magenta robe flourish over the floor as she walks. The lights are out, the moon casts uneven shadows over the kitchen, illuminating her path to the sink. The fortune teller moves with practice, reaching into cupboards and finding relaxing herbs in the house’s shared collection. With her mind elsewhere, it takes a moment for her to sense it.
A divine smell evades her nostrils, her eyes roll back as her toes curl underneath her. The unexpected scent takes her back to Sicily, centuries ago, a long forgotten memory of her mother putting her to bed, wrapping a thick blanket around her and muttering soft protection spells under her breath.
The nostalgia raises goosebumps over her skin as she stands still in the dark room, water running from the faucet and into the teapot in her hand.
The abrupt image makes the grey-haired woman take in the space around her. Magic wafts through the air, lulling her like a song and imperceptibly taking the weight of the day from her shoulders. The unusual stillness is acknowledged for the first time, and she turns around then, hearing the sound of boiling water from the stove.
A small pot is halfway filled with milk. The scent is rich, sweet and inviting like nothing she’s ever smelled before.
Contrary to popular belief, it is very uncommon for a witch to get poisoned, fooled by another’s magic or killed with any kind of ingestive spell. They know, they instinctively feel when something is wrong, alarm bells ringing in their head in the face of imminent danger.
Lilia knows then, knows that - whatever this is - it would do her no harm.
Albeit normally the divination witch would think twice before taking an unknown potion lying around - specially with her colorful housemates - it is as if hypnotized that she reaches for the mug by her side, dipping it into the shimmering white milk and filling it to the brim, drops cascading down the porcelain and wetting her fingers as she brings it up for a sip.
A grunt tears itself from between her lips.
The scalding drink goes down, not burning, but warming her up from the inside. The taste lingers on the tongue, saccharine and creamy, addictive. She downs it, doesn’t even care what it is, only focused on the sensation spreading over her body.
It feels as if coming home to an embrace, the comfort of pillowing breasts under your head as you take an unworried sleep. The coziness of nurturing, the need to protect someone, to feed and watch as pleasure booms in their face from the milk in their lips. To observe as their eyes roll from the sweetness gracing their tongue, feeling as they suck and moan around your skin.
The temperature around her increases, sweat gathers in her brows as she groans around her mouthful. Her chest grows hot, redness blooming across her skin as her nipples stiffen under the material of her dress. Heat spreads over her thigh, arousal washes over her in a strange encounter of lust and comfort. Her bra becomes unreasonably tight.
“Lilia.”
She doesn’t jump, isn’t frightened by the figure hovering in the shadows, but as if someone snapped fingers in front of her eyes, she blinks harshly, emerging from the trance she had been in. Her upper lip is wet and her breathing is irregular, there’s nothing much she can do besides drag her tongue over her skin, cleaning the white mustache her desperate drinking had caused.
The pot is now empty, no more divine smell wafting from the stove. She feels full, as if a banquet had been served and eaten with gusto. It is clear that the milk is gone and, even if one of her housemates has just arrived, it is also painfully obvious that there is no one else to blame for its disappearance besides her. Even if she doesn’t remember taking more than one sip. Even if she’s never felt so out of her mind before.
“Rio.”
Death herself lurks in the darkness, watching Lilia with an unreadable expression, black predatory eyes inspecting her panting form. If she is mad, or concerned, because the divination witch drank the unknown potion, she doesn’t let it show.
The grey-haired woman’s chest burns, she feels a blush rising all the way up to her cheeks, out of embarrassment or as a side effect of the magic, she couldn’t tell.
She’d bet on both.
“I wouldn’t worry.” The green witch reassures, jumping to sit on top of the kitchen counter.
As non-elaborated as it is, the remark is enough to make the fortune teller let out a relieved sigh, still out of her wits and barely grasping the gravity of the situation. Effortlessly, the couple she lived with always managed to drag Lilia into whatever trouble they were currently plotting.
A million questions run through her mind, her thoughts are jumbled and her body is unknown, acting on its own accord. The divination witch narrows her eyes, but in her dazed state can’t do much more than ask.
“Is it hot in here?” Reaching for her robe, she’s quick to get rid of the warming material, discarding it near the sink.
“Are you hot?” Rio counters, eyeing her up and down with a smirk, amused by her condition. “Well-” She amends, cut off by the stare Lilia levels her with.
The green witch’s cackle reverberates around the tense room, her feet banging against the bottom cabinet as her head falls back.
“Goddess.” The fortune teller whispers, hands fanning herself as she looks upwards for any form of aid - and patience.
Sparing a moment to breathe, the gray-haired woman presses the tip of her fingers against her temple, trying to massage away the upcoming headache. How stupid was she to drink an unknown potion lying around? It was as if she hadn’t had control over herself, a calling, a need to feel more of what the smell was already providing.
The calm intake of air is enough to bring a portion of clarity. She couldn’t be losing control again. Not when her chest felt heavier than usual, her neck was sticky with sweat and her underwear was unreasonably wet. Not when closing her eyes made her picture the woman in front of her squeezing her breasts, lips closing around a bud of milk on her nipple.
Her posture stiffens at the image, startled. Her mouth flies open to yell at the figure in front of her before she’s interrupted by footsteps.
“Rio? I can’t smell it anymore. Have you drunk it already?” The owner of the house’s voice sounds from the stairs. “I thought we agreed to-”
What had they agreed to do would continue a mystery to Lilia for when Agatha sets foot in the room she cuts herself off, matching satin purple shorts and a tank top covering her as she glares at the duo from the kitchen entrance.
“Lilia.” The brunette greets, unphased by the older woman's presence as she moves to perch herself by Rio’s side, elbows resting on the wood. “What is going on?”
The fortune teller doesn’t have time to form an answer.
“Lilia drank the milk.” The black-haired woman replies simply, toothy grin mocking the divination witch’s predicament.
“Oh, did she?” The one in purple snorts, lips spreading to a smirk of her own. “And how much did you drink?” She questions the grey-haired woman directly.
Lilia eyes the empty pot on the stove, tongue wetting sugary lips before pressing them together. An irritated furrow grows on her brows as anger rises alongside her arousal.
“All of it.” She grunts, watches as the couple's eyes tinkle with malice.
By this point, it’s clear what is happening; their unworried posture has dispelled Lilia’s anxiety and, by paying attention to her symptoms, she was able to quickly piece things together. Of course they would be playing with sex magic and, naturally, she would be drawn into the middle of it.
Her boobs ache something fierce, taunt and heavy, filling up with milk and just about ready to burst. Her body is heated, a pleasant warmth swirls in her stomach and her cheeks burn. Her first instinct is to give in, enjoy the sensations coursing through her veins and ask the two idiots for help. Just the mere image of their pretty pink lips sucking her tits is enough to make her hold back a moan.
She isn’t sure the urge is only a side effect of the potion.
“Oh, they are going to get big.” Agatha smirks, amusement lacing her tone. In an uncanny show of synchrony, the couple’s heads drop to the side as they hungrily stare at the other woman’s cleavage. “Well… bigger than they already are.”
It isn’t uncommon for Agatha or Rio to flirt with Lilia, but, given the situation, their unperturbed demeanor is aggravating the divination witch more than usual. And, in the end, her exasperation wins over her soaked slit. She huffs, rolls her eyes and storms out of the kitchen.
“Lilia!” The brunette exclaims. “C’mon, live a little! This isn’t going away by itself. We can give you a hand.” She gesticulates openly, following Lilia out of the room with Rio calmly accompanying them. “Or, more precisely, two mouths.”
The joke is ignored. The couple observe from the first floor as the fortune teller stamps her way up the stars, cursing the pair under her breath.
“Don’t be proud, Calderu.” Rio shouts, a last attempt at smoothing her feathers.
“Fuck off.” The grey-haired woman yells, hearing the entity’s snicker at her response.
“Good luck!” Agatha screams, sharing a grin with the black-haired woman as a door bangs on the upper floor.
If asked, Lilia would answer that shame and pride don’t match her color palette.
Therefore, when an hour has gone by and she makes her way into the living room - by now with a bigger problem on her hands - she refuses to act like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs.
Head held high and robe tightly tied around her, she walks calmly through the dark hallway, towards the faint sound of conversation she hears from afar. Her little episode in the bath is all but ignored, her wet center still begging for more of the relief brought by her fingers.
Looking at herself in the mirror had been startling, the reason behind the tightness of her bra was clear the moment she saw her naked reflection. Her breasts had doubled - she’d say even tripled - in size. They felt painfully heavy, her neck stiff with the unfamiliar weight.
Worst of all was the desire to nurture, to have someone plaint in her arms as they sucked her dry.
She had tried it all; squeezing, massaging, using some goddamn magic pump that had not worked. Nothing helped, in fact, her attempts appear to have only made it worse. Her tits felt fuller than ever, sore and tight, the liquid pressing against her skin.
And what if she had gotten frustrated enough to get herself off with the image of the couple who put her in this predicament for starters? She wouldn’t tell, and her shame wouldn’t show either.
It did not go well with her color palette after all.
“I’m big, it’s the pictures that got small.”
The voices Lilia had heard from upstairs were apparently from the television, for the couple was too occupied to talk. Their kiss is languid, slow, with a familiarity that makes it all the more torturous for Lilia to watch as she stands by the living room threshold.
If one of them notices the new arrival, they don't let it show.
In an attempt to draw the attention of the pair on the couch, the fortune teller forcefully clears her throat, by now used to catching them in similar predicaments.
They separate from their kiss, surprised grunts escaping their lips. Rio doesn’t bother to leave Agatha’s lap when she catches sight of the grey-haired woman, only smirks in the darkness of the living room upon seeing her, impish eyes watching the divination witch from her straddling position.
“Took you long enough.”
Lilia can’t help but to scoff at the brunette’s remark.
The ache on her tits is, however, stronger than her desire to turn on her heels and head back upstairs.
Agatha straight up dumps Rio on the sofa, patting the cushion and making space for the older woman to sit between them. The entity scoffs and smiles, shaking her head at her wife’s rough treatment and taking no time to kneel on the soft pad to face Lilia, dark eyes following her movement.
The fortune teller presses her lips forward in a hard line, fidgeting with her flowy sleeves as she moves to take her designated place. The temperature is high, the room feels abnormally hot and electric, their bodies' warmth mingling and increasing in the close arrangement they find themselves in.
The black-haired woman hums under her breath, leaning towards Lilia.
“You smell like jasmine.”
As if Rio’s words are a cue, the fortune teller feels Agatha's palms traveling up her midsection.
The slap is so quick the brunette doesn’t have time to evade the contact, bringing her hand up to cradle against her chest.
“Lilia!” She exclaims, faking offense.
Unfortunately for the smug couple, the divination witch would not let them play her like a prey.
Fixing her posture, Lilia starts. “Shush. This is all your fault. If you two-”
“We weren’t even with you when you drank the milk.” Rio cuts her off, shrugging when the grey-haired woman throws her a fuming glance.
Pinching the bridge of her nose for a few seconds and gathering her non-existence patience, the fortune teller takes in a deep breath before opening her eyes and saying.
“We’re going to make this quick.” Index finger points at their respective faces, rings reflecting in the low light of the television.
The glance exchanged by the couple does not go unnoticed by the divination witch, however, she chooses to ignore it. Whatever non-verbal conversation they were having didn’t affect her instruction on the matter.
In spite of how clear it is, the order seems to be all but ignored when they both move to mount her, each straddling one of her thighs, matching smirks looking down at her.
“Did you hear what I just said!?” The fortune teller exasperation is clear.
Her breasts become more sore by the second, this cat and mouse game has made her madder than before and her composure is quickly slipping.
The thin materials separating their skin are no help.
“Relax, Lilia. You were the one who said you wanted to make this quick.” Agatha says, hot center covered by satin shorts rubbing against the divination witch as she moves to throw her long hair back. “Well, two mouths are better than one, or however that saying goes.”
The gray-haired woman rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
“Don’t be stubborn, Calderu." Rio amends simply, deep cleavage close to Lilia’s face.
The fortune teller’s blood boils.
“Honestly!” She rages, rattling the women on her lap as she reaches down to untie her robe.
Her restraint had run dry.
“If you intend to annoy me, you should put your mouths to better use.”
The surprised raised eyebrows and smirks are completely lost on Lilia as she struggles with the knot.
Her hands are softly removed before Agatha’s deft fingers work on the tie, unwrapping the older woman like a present.
The robe spills to the sides, opening to reveal creamy white skin, wrinkles from neck to bust and engorged breast, hard nipples begging for release. Rio’s grin is positively predatory as she watches a single drop of milk form under the new attention, trickle down and disappear underneath Lilia's breast.
Following its wet trail, Agatha’s nail brushes upwards and she watches as the grey-haired woman shudders underneath her, letting out a sound of discomfort. The caress is a torture on its own, if Lilia’s nipples could get any harder than they already are, they would, but with her skin as tight as it is the motion only leaves her throbbing.
The brunette’s eyes are fixed on the newly exposed skin, gaze unmoving as more milk produces under her soft touch. The other occupants of the room watch the brunette’s tranced state with bated breath as she leans in to close her mouth around a nipple.
A combination of moans echo through the living room, the dialogue coming from the television unable to drown them out. Lilia’s hand acts on its own accord, her eyes shut close and her hips involuntarily can up, fingers tangling in the brunette’s mane and bringing her closer.
The relief is instantaneous and the arousal smearing her panties-free thighs is not lost on her.
Rio stares as pleasure blooms on her face, mouth hanging open as Agatha’s lip works on her nipple. Like a starving woman, the brunette loses herself to the feeling of the warm milk coaxing her tongue, her mind nowhere to be found, her actions controlled by nothing but her instincts. Groans escape her and her palm reaches for the other woman’s breast, squeezing the taunt flesh.
An invisible bubble seems to form around them, the world ceases to exist to the women engaged, and Rio watches, entranced by the image upon her. The way Lilia’s brows furrow under the attention, legs rubbing together to relieve some of the tension there. How milk cascades down Agatha’s chin as she rapidly gulps, wits lost to the magic, to the overwhelming attraction she has always had for the older witch.
“Yes, baby, just like that.”
Agatha whines at Lilia’s encouragement, hips grinding down on the gray-haired woman’s thigh. Her nails painfully sink into the flesh of the divination witch, her breath comes out in uneven puffs against her skin. Rio’s fingers join Lilia’s on her scalp and the entity softly pulls Agatha up by the hair, the fortune teller’s palm falling to her neck.
“Agatha.” Rio calls gently.
The brunette’s pupils are blown wide, her eyes staring deeply into her wife’s as she pants from the exertion, mouth white with milk. She continues to ride the other woman’s leg, Lilia’s thumb caressing her throat.
“Breath.”
Rio pulls her in for a kiss, tongues meeting halfway. It's slow, the black-haired woman settling a rhythm to calm the brunette, and in the process tasting Lilia for the first time.
The moan that tears itself from her throat is animalistic. She squeezes Agatha’s scalp harder, thighs closing against the divination witch’s leg. The magic pricks her lips, leaving a sort of numbness behind. It’s sweet, not quite like anything she has ever savored before, and it sends a wave of heat down her body. An unusual desire to be nurtured, to have the gray-haired woman’s finger fondling her while she enjoys the warmth of her body.
To growl and bite at anything that dares come too close to them, to protect what is hers.
She suddenly feels parched.
Letting go of the brunette, she instinctively turns towards Lilia as Agatha goes back to sucking her dry. The fortune teller’s pupils are similar to the brunette’s -and she’d bet her own-, her breath is ragged and she watches the entity back, eyes searching for reassurance. Whatever it is that she wants to find, she doesn't have the time to do so because Rio pounces on her, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. Teeth clashing painfully and the taste of blood gracing their tongues.
It doesn't matter, for the kiss is short lived. Death pulls away, gazing deeply at her before moving her mouth south, joining the other woman at breast level. If Rio had been the only one in her right mind, that had been thrown into the wind.
And Lilia can’t find it in herself to care.
It was undeniable that she found the other two witches attractive and now, with the potion decreasing her inhibitions, she couldn’t find a single reason to not act on it. Not when they look so prettily sitting in her lap, swollen pink lips bringing her pleasure.
Ring clad fingers cradle soft locks, back dislodging from the couch to chase the pleasure coursing through her. Their groans mingle and reverberate on her skin, her nipples pleasurably sore under the attention. She doesn’t even notice when her hands travel down to hips, holding waists to help both women grind down against her. Wishing to somehow retribute the pleasure they are providing to her.
The couple has no qualms in following her lead, used to embracing their desires a lot more than she is. The thin material of their pajamas rub against her leg, silk soaked by their wet slits. The sucking sounds echo each other and the women on her knees close their eyes, tongue caressing her nipples and teeth lightly scraping her sensitive skin.
Lilia can’t help but curse out loud, sicilian nonsense escaping her lips as she trashes on the couch, nails sinking into any flesh she can hold on to and tears pickling her half-closed eyelids.
Breaths mingle over her chest and the couple clash over her once more to share a kiss, this time, however, it's frantic.
Rio’s previous caution is out the window and the fortune teller hears the woman growl, a sound resembling a wild predator.
Lilia can only watch, entranced, as the milk on their mouths cascades down their fronts, smearing over their cheeks in their hectic encounter. Movements speed up, groans growing louder as each search for their own pleasure in her thigh, scratching and biting the other while at it.
The fortune teller throbs, wetter than she has ever been before, the display unhelpful for her aching cunt. She wants to reach out, touch them, touch herself, but she feels paralyzed by her overwhelming arousal.
It's too much.
It’s not enough.
A moan escaping her throat is enough to draw their attention again and - she realizes this time when they look at her - their minds seem as lost as hers, they are as driven by instinct as she is.
They alternate it this time, Rio goes directly towards her chest as Agatha kisses her. It’s different, though, the brunette handles her like a fragile little thing, a porcelain doll she holds dearly in her heart, their lips meeting with care. Agatha’s hand grabs her messy ponytail and brings her close, whining against her lips in desperation.
It is clear that the magic affected the women differently.
While the brunette feels almost pliant in her hands, needy and clinging to Lilia as if the older woman could shield her from the world, as if the comfort of her embrace was something she had lacked all her life and she distressedly needed it, the black-haired woman was animalistic in nature, with a possessiveness she had never shown before, eyes darting left and right as if she expected anyone to pounce on them at any moment. Her posture was of starvation, of protectiveness.
Taking pity on her, Lilia’s hand runs down to help Agatha reach her pleasure, feeling the erratic move of her hips when her ring-clad finger finds her clit in the impossible soaked slit, keeping it still to let the woman chase the pleasure herself.
It doesn’t take long, it is clear she was close already, and in no time Agatha seizes in her arms, grinding harder and harder until her lips are forming an ‘O’ shape against the gray-haired woman’s one, uneven breath leaving her as she melts in her neck.
With one orgasm out of the way, they collectively seem to be able to focus a little better. It feels less frantic when Agatha joins Rio once again to finish what they started.
It has been known by Lilia that there are multiple types of climax for women; she, however, had never thought she'd be able to come only by someone stimulating her breasts. For as long as she has been alive, this is the first time in her life she felt close to her peak without being touched anywhere else.
And it is in a steady rhythm that her pleasures wash over her, the couple’s administrations on her chest never stopping. The sucking feels other-wordly as the witches’ throats bob against her skin, their palms travelling to her side, grabbing her waist and keeping her still lest she escapes from their mouth.
Rio seems to mimic her in action, speeding up her hips when Lilia’s own cans upwards, chasing her pleasure in time with the other witch.
It is a feeling she had never experienced before, warmness spreading from her chest through her body, her cunt squeezing around nothing and her clit throbbing without being touched. Her nipples feel impossibly hard, hardening even more so when her peak washes over her. Goosebumps rising over her flesh as she faintly feels Rio’s thigh squeezing her legs harder, her body becoming rigid from the climax.
It doesn't last long, but the magic accompanies it, leaving her tingling in an unfamiliar way, finger tips numb. Her breasts are still sore, although in a different manner altogether, she doesn't feel the liquid tightly pressing against her skin anymore. They feel lighter, even if still sensible, and she has to close her eyes to gather enough thoughts to deal with the situation at hand.
Rio and Agatha slump beside her on the couch, ragged breathing and wet lips glistening on the low light of the living room, the movie playing as background noise.
“Well, we can cross two things off of our bucket list now.”
Agatha snorts at her wife’s commentary.
Lilia shakes her head, tries very hard not to hex both of them.