The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

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The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by Announcer » 13 Apr 2018, 00:08

First time posting a story to this forum, so I hope people enjoy it. Will contain belching, belly stuffing, farting, and potentially some expansion or inflation scenes.

This first part is focused on just setting up the main two characters, so none of the juicy stuff just yet.

The day began like any other. So I would guess, at any rate. Truthfully, I can scarcely recall what happened that morning. I remember thinking how relieving it would be to finally get off the road, to sleep in my own bed again. I know I certainly didn’t expect everything to fall apart as it did.

My name is Lyriana. My father, the lord of Harronfell county in the kingdom of Aenor, had finally called me home after an extended stay of some months with my aunt and cousins in Brynweald. He had sent me away in the first place to try and keep me safe — and his fears weren’t unfounded it seemed, as Castle Harronfell came under siege for two weeks the month after I left. That caution extended to my return trip as well, for when I left my aunt’s estate I was escorted by a band of armed soldiers: ten men in suits of hardened steel with sharp swords, and five more with keen eyes and sturdy bows, all of them astride well-trained horses. With the sixteen of us and our wagon of travel supplies it would have taken just under two weeks to make it home if we moved slowly.

We were ambushed on the third day.

It happened at dusk, as we were passing through a wooded section of road. First there was a shout from one of the archers, and then a bright light. A deafening boom shook the air before I could even turn to look, and suddenly flames engulfed the road in front of me. Three of the men at the front fell screaming from their horses while the others drew their weapons, the sound of a war horn blaring in my ear.

The attackers were upon us in seconds, and my guards were overwhelmed. Blinded as I was by the flames, I could barely make them out in the dark, but there must have been more than a dozen figures closing in from the shadows. The soldiers put up a valiant fight to be sure, as I saw at least a few of the unknown enemies fall, but it wasn’t enough.

My horse was already rearing in fright, and when the next explosion tore through the archers behind me I was thrown from the saddle. The world turned hazy when my head hit the ground. All I could hear was shouting and the clash of weapons, and all I could smell was smoke. As my senses started to clear, I saw one of my guards lying bleeding on the ground nearby. Desperate to do something, I crawled towards him. Before I could reach him, one of the attackers was standing over me: a heavyset orcish man dressed in thick hides. He held a vicious club in his hands, studded with iron spikes, and was snarling down at me like a predator about to catch its prey. I went for the blade at my hip, a smallsword I barely knew how to use. I was lucky enough to manage a stab up into his thigh before he pulled away and smacked the weapon from my hands with his club.

The orc reached down and grabbed me by the collar, dragging me to my feet until I could smell his fetid breath snorting into my face. I struggled, but couldn’t match his strength, and I knew with the sounds of battle dying down around me that no help was coming. At least, that’s what I thought.

Suddenly the orc’s face was illuminated by a light from behind me, brighter than any of the flames from the explosions moments before. I could see him as clearly as if it were the middle of the day. His eyes squinted shut against the brightness and he gave a startled yell, dropping me back to the ground. I caught myself this time and looked up just in time to see the head of a pole-hammer slamming into his chest and knocking him to the ground as a horse galloped past bearing an armored rider, carrying their pole-hammer in one hand and a brightly shining sword in the other, the source of the intense light.

One more of the ambushers was taken down by the rider’s long hammer before they dropped it abruptly to the ground and brought their horse to a stop, leaping off with their sword held in both hands. The knight fought with skill like I had never seen, swinging with speed and precision that felled a foe with every strike. Three, four, five enemies stepped up to fight and were beaten just as quickly!

I hoped to use the stranger’s distraction to get to safety, so I scrambled to my feet and looked around for my sword. As soon as I spotted it I hurried over and bent to pick it up, but was yanked away by a frighteningly familiar meaty hand. The orc who had accosted me before pulled me into his grasp, clamping his fat fingers over my mouth to keep me from screaming. Once again I struggled against him, shaking my head and thrashing my arms, but the muscular thug barely seemed to notice or care until I bit down on one of his fingers. He gave a snarl of anger and seemed to finally lose his patience. His bitten hand let go of my mouth and then slammed into the side of my head in a walloping smack. The world went hazy again, and then faded away completely.

When I woke up I was on the ground again, sitting with my back against one of the wheels of the supply wagon. I could still smell smoke, but the fires seemed to have gone out by now, and the bright glow of the stranger’s sword was gone. When I looked up, I saw the rider from before standing amongst the chaos and looking around, their sword sheathed and their pole-hammer resting on their shoulder. They seemed to be searching for survivors, but hadn’t found any. They turned around as I sat up and tried to move, peering at me through their closed helmet.

“You’re awake!” I heard a lightly muffled, feminine voice say from behind the visor. She rushed over towards me, holding out a leather-gloved hand to stop me. “You shouldn’t move, miss; you were hit in the head pretty hard.”

I was still dizzy, and the throbbing ache in my temple told me she was right. I sat back against the wheel as she knelt down in front of me. Up so close, I realized at last how tall she seemed, and could finally get a good look at her armor. It was lighter than what my guards had been wearing, but also of obviously higher quality: a finely made two-piece breastplate and pauldrons over a chainmail hauberk, padded underneath by a thick gambeson. A dark blue cloak was draped around her shoulders, trailing on the grass as she knelt. From what I could see, she wore no coat of arms or the colors of any noble family.

“Can you tell me what happened, miss?” she asked, sounding concerned.

I reached up to clutch at my pounding head and looked past her at the aftermath of the ambush. “We were attacked,” I answered, shaking a bit where I sat. “I don’t know who they were or why, but there were explosions and fire...”

She placed a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. “We shouldn’t stay here in case more come,” she said softly, taking my hand and helping me to my feet. “And you should rest. I’ll find a place to make camp and we can talk more in the morning.”

With her help I climbed onto the wagon. She mounted her horse and took the reins of the horses pulling the wagon, leading them off of the road. I sat back as we moved into the cover of the trees, dozing off despite the bumping of the wheels. I didn’t know if I could trust this stranger, but I didn’t have much other choice. So I let sleep take me, hoping to learn more in the morning.

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by relus » 13 Apr 2018, 06:44

Really nice story, Hella descriptions. Fantastic work

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by Announcer » 13 Apr 2018, 12:15

Well, the plan was that this chapter would be where the burps and such start coming in, but as I was writing it I realized that it was getting too long for one post. So instead, this just turned into extra setup and some dedicated description for our main two characters.

The kinks are coming up soon, I swear!


I woke with a start, jolting upright after a dream I no longer remember. The pain in my head put me right back down though, and when I reached up with my hand I could feel that a bump had formed. I winced and looked around, taking in the sunlight through the leaves overhead. Birds were singing as if nothing wrong had happened the night before, and the smell of morning dew graced my nostrils — morning dew and horse, really, but I was counting my blessings.

I realized I was still in the wagon, where I must have fallen asleep on one of the softer bundles of supplies. A blanket from one of the spare bedrolls was draped over me and now rumpled in my lap from my startled jump. I also realized that I wasn’t dead, or tied up, or naked, or otherwise taken advantage of so far as I could tell, and I hadn’t pulled out the blanket myself. Perhaps I didn’t need to worry about the stranger, I thought, though I saw no sign of her as I sat up again.

Ouch, I muttered, my hand clasping gingerly at my neck. Sleeping in the wagon had left me painfully stiff, and as I moved again I looked down at myself and started to notice how sweaty and uncomfortable I’d become after the day’s travel and the stress of the ambush. There was quite an unpleasant dampness under my arms, breasts, down my back...not to mention a few even less comfortable places. I thanked the gods we had saved the wagon so I’d have a change of clothes, and prayed that there might be a pond or stream nearby I could wash myself in.

I climbed out of the wagon slowly, wincing over my aches and pains, and looked around again. There was a campfire a few yards away barely burning, and not far from that were a bedroll, a travel pack, and a carefully laid out set of armor I recognized as belonging to my savior from last night. Sure enough, her horse — a handsome dappled blue roan — was tied to a tree just a short distance away, eating from a feeding bag, flicking its tail, and ignoring me.

Looking over her discarded armor, I found myself curious what she looked like. I could finally put a face to my rescuer — whenever she came back, anyway. It was then that the thought occurred to me to look at myself first to see what state the night’s horrors had left me in and assess the damage. I hoped that bump wasn’t too unsightly. Fishing through the wagon, I found the bundle of my own belongings and fetched out a silver-plated hand mirror my aunt had given me as a gift during my stay with her.

My own crystal-blue eyes staring back at me, I frowned critically at my reflection and turned my head, tracing my fingers around the bump at my temple. It didn’t look too heinous a blemish, I decided; there was a slight bruised discoloration to it compared to the paler peach skin around it, but thankfully it was hidden mostly by my hair. I huffed in mild irritation at my hair. As I rotated the mirror with my wrist I saw that my hair, which I preferred to keep neatly in a braided bun, was currently a mess of stray chestnut-brown locks sticking out every which-way. Not only that, but there was dirt on my face, and as I tilted the mirror down I saw that the dampness I’d noticed earlier was beginning to show very unflatteringly in the form of sweat stains darkening the red brocade of my cotehardie.

I held the mirror out at arm’s length to my side, angled it towards my back, and started to turn my head to look. The stiff pain in my neck put a stop to that quite quickly; I rubbed at it tenderly.

“What are you doing?” I heard a cheerfully inquisitive and half-giggling voice behind me ask suddenly. A gasp jumped from my throat and I jumped, too, startled almost to the point of dropping the mirror. My free hand flew up to my chest and pressed against it almost as if in the hopes of physically hold my heart in place and settle it down.

“Ack! Oh my goodness, did I startle you? I’m so sorry!” the girlish voice spoke again, seeming sincere in its apology. My heart still pounding, I turned around to look at the stranger who’d snuck up on me. If anything, what I saw only alarmed me even more.

Everything about her was big. No, I take that back. Everything about her was huge!

In fact, the very first thing I noticed when I turned was that I had almost slammed my face directly into the huge shelf of her breasts! They must have been nearly half-again larger than her head each, stuffed into an old, slightly ragged sky-blue tunic that looked as though it might have fit her some years ago but now found itself dangerously tight. I had to stagger backwards to avoid them, which only made me look even more awkward, I’m sure.

This on its own was impressive, but when I say everything I do mean practically everything. I didn’t consider myself a short woman at just under five and a half feet, but I only came up to her bust, making her around a full foot taller than me, at least! She was broad-shouldered with an hourglass-shaped build — not because of the thinness of her waist (though I would scarcely have called her fat), but because of the sheer width of her hips and the incredible size of her heart-shaped backside! Those spacious hips led down into long, shapely legs with meaty, powerful thighs, over which she wore a pair of dark grey, almost black pants that fit quite a bit better than her poor, overworked top.

Looking up, I saw her gazing back down at me with confusion in her big, bright, ember-colored eyes like burning amber, and her plump, full lips were twisted into a light frown of concern. Her face was soft and smooth without a single blemish, with an ever-so-slightly wide button nose between rosy, prominent, apple-shaped cheeks. Framing all of this was a slim, well-defined jawline and daintily tucked-back ears. To top it all off, her hair was a massive mane of hot reddish orange matching the fiery color of her eyes, especially in the morning sunlight, and cascaded down her shoulders in shimmering waves like tongues of flame all the way until it brushed at the top of her toned rear.

To put it simply, she was far and away the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen...intimidatingly so, even. It was enough to make me feel inadequate — I remember wondering if she was even human — but mostly I was impressed. It must have shown, too. I stood staring in silence, maybe even blushing a bit, for a few long seconds before she spoke again, tilting her head a little. “Um...miss? Are you alright?”

It wasn’t until she called me “miss” that my addled brain put two and two together and I realized that this huge, amazonian woman was the very person who had rescued me last night! She was even wearing that same dusky blue cloak around her shoulders, although it was swept to one side over her arm at the moment.

I stammered my way into a response, trying weakly to cover my embarrassment from more or less ogling the woman right in front of her. “I-I, uhm...yes, I’m fine,” I said, starting to pull myself together. “I was just trying to see if I was...hurt anywhere else.”

The tall woman’s expression lightened, and she seemed to accept the answer readily. Her lips curled into a bubbly smile and she giggled softly, “Oh, that makes sense! It looked like you were trying to look at your butt!”

I couldn't help but share her laughter with a small, involuntary chuckle at first. It was a light-hearted, almost childish remark, but I felt my cheeks burning red with more embarrassment as it sank in. I suddenly realized how ridiculous that must have looked, how vain she must have thought I was! Maybe she would have been right, considering the fussing I’d done over the dirt and messy hair.

Before my mind could take me further into my self-criticism, the woman turned and moved over towards the campfire, where she picked up a crossbow from amongst her things along with a handful of bolts that she tucked under her belt next to an exotic looking knife that was sheathed there.

“I’m going to hunt for some breakfast,” she said, winching back the crossbow’s string. “If you’d like to wash yourself or your clothes, there’s a stream about fifty paces northeast. Just keep an eye out and try not to get lost, okay?” A helpful finger pointed in the direction of the stream, and she smiled at me warmly. “Don’t be afraid to call out if you need help.”

She then gestured behind me. “And you should probably take that along, just in case.” I turned and saw she was referring to my smallsword, resting on the wagon in its scabbard. I picked it up as she suggested, and she nodded. “I should be back within an hour or two, and then we can eat!” There was a certain excitement in her eyes as she finished her statement.

With that she turned and walked off into the woods. Her hips had a natural sway to them as she moved, and her behind bounced up and down, up and down, alternating one side to the other. I didn’t even register that I was watching until her cloak fell into place behind her and hid her buttocks from view. Snapping out of the momentary trance, I scolded myself under my breath, gathered some fresh clothes and some soap from the wagon, and started off to the northeast as she had indicated. Hopefully a splash of water on my face would wash off the awkward funk I seemed to be in.

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by Announcer » 14 Apr 2018, 16:46

Okay, I promised and here it is. This chapter's a long one because apparently even with kink stories I love my fluff, but the burps have begun!

I particularly enjoyed writing this part; please let me know what you think.


After a long and thorough wash of both myself and clothes (as much as I could), I dried myself with a cloth and got dressed in some long green breeches, a white linen shirt, and a blue doublet overtop. I wore the same boots as before and belted my smallsword back onto my hip. The woman was still gone when I returned to the camp, so I laid out my wet clothes over a branch to dry and worked on braiding my hair with some help from my hand mirror.

When she finally returned to camp, the red-haired stranger came bearing a surprising amount of game. Four whole rabbits she brought, which she appeared to have already skinned and prepared for cooking. It seemed quite a lot of food for two people, but I didn’t mention it. We worked together gathering wood for the fire for a few minutes before setting up a spit to cook the gathered meat, which she had sprinkled with salt, herbs, and spices from jars she kept in her bags. I sat down on one side as she knelt down by the assembled logs, reaching in towards the kindling with her empty hand. Curiously, I watched and saw a glow envelop her palm, followed by tongues of flame rising and swirling as if from her flesh itself. Not only was she a skilled and well-equipped fighter, but she knew magic as well?

The kindling took the flame at once and she smiled, the fires from her palm growing as she held them there, coaxing the wood to start burning as well. She seemed completely unperturbed by the fire from the kindling licking at her hand. Then the glow vanished and she rubbed her hands together eagerly and sat down.

I looked on at her in ever more curiosity. Finally, I asked what I should have earlier that morning: “Who are you?”

The woman looked up from the fire to me, seeming surprised and a little confused at first. Then her eyes widened, her eyebrows arched upwards, and she gasped. “Oh! I never introduced myself!” she realized. “I’m sorry, I must’ve gotten carried away! I'm forgetful when I'm hungry.”

Standing up at once with a chipper smile (and reminding me how very large and tall she was), she bent forward into a bow and her large breasts hung down pendulously in her undersized tunic, giving me a view right into her deep cleavage that I’m still not entirely sure she was conscious of. I imagined for a moment I could hear the fabric crying out in distress.

“My name is Azalon Deguellios, the Firehair,” she said, her voice jogging my attention back away from her distractingly exaggerated figure. Watching her bright red-orange locks hanging down from her head and blowing in the soft breeze, I could certainly see where the Firehair moniker came from. “At your service, milady! Er...” she stopped and straightened herself, scrunching her brow and looking up to me again. “You are a Lady, right? Noble, I mean? I saw that the men with you wore the Harronfell colors...”

I held back an amused snicker at her confusion and nodded. “I am Lady Lyriana Rochaire-Castor, Daughter of Count Renauld Castor of Harronfell and Dame Marjolaine Rochaire. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and you have my gratitude for rescuing me as you did.”

“Dame Rochaire?” Azalon repeated with surprise, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, my goodness, I had no idea! She was one of my idols growing up! What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I felt my lips turn downwards at the question. I wasn’t upset, per se, as my mother had passed many years ago. Rather, I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I...don’t really know,” I said, clasping my hands over my crossed legs. “I was very young when she was killed, and never really got to know her. Everyone I ever asked said the usual things...’she was kind and caring, a very strong woman, she loved you very much.’”

Azalon’s seemingly eternal smile turned from excited to sad. She nodded, reaching forward to turn the spit as the meat began to cook. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said empathetically. “I never knew my mother either. My papa always told me the same things, too.”

There was a moment of quiet, mutual awkwardness. Then, changing the subject, Azalon gestured to me. “So, milady...actually, what should I call you? Lady Castor? Lady Rochaire?”

I winced at the latter suggestion and shook my head. “No no, ‘milady’ is fine,” I insisted, “Or just ‘Lyriana.’ I’d rather not be compared to my mother, those are shoes I’m not sure I can fill.”

Azalon’s smile brightened again at being given permission to call me by my name. “Lyriana it is! So, Lyriana,” she began, her tone turning more gently inquisitive. “I’m sorry for what happened to you last night, and that I didn’t arrive sooner. Where were you and your escort heading?”

“Back to Castle Harronfell,” I answered. “I had been staying in Brynweald with my aunt.”

She paused, seeming to think. “Hmm...that’s a good distance away. You’d have the whole rest of Brynweald to cover before you were halfway...” Looking up at me, an idea seemed to form in her head, and she sat up. “Why don’t I escort you there?”

I raised my eyebrows. “What? Such a ways? It would be a week and a half! You’ve already rescued me from gods-know-what fate last night, I couldn’t ask you to do that!”

Azalon conceded. “Well, at least let me bring you back to civilization,” she suggested. “It wouldn’t be right to leave a pretty young Lady out in the woods by herself!”

I blinked. Had she just called me pretty? Before I could comment, she continued on, “My hometown is Springhaven, only about a day’s ride from here. I’ll take you there and you can get your bearings and decide how to go on from there.”

“I’d be very grateful for that,” I said, agreeing to her offer with a faint smile. “Thank you, miss...Deguellios, was it?”

“Just call me Azalon,” she said with a grin. “And it would be my pleasure! We can start heading there after we eat.”

My smile broadened. “Azalon it is.”

We chatted a few minutes longer, passing the time as the meat on the spit cooked through. Every so often she would lean forward and turn the spit, and I started to notice how temptingly appetizing the game was beginning to smell with the spices she had rubbed over each piece. I wondered again why she had brought so much; they were good-sized rabbits, each a suitable meal for as many as four people — together, they could have fed me and all of my escort! She was eyeing the food hungrily though, as if she hadn’t eaten in days; I decided again not to comment.

It was then that I heard a long, low, but very loud and groaning gastric grumble that at first I took for some beast in the woods. It wasn’t until I looked over and saw Azalon clutching her abdomen that I realized it was her empty stomach! Gods, I thought, what if she really hasn’t eaten in days? If that were the case, I certainly couldn’t blame her for her eyes being bigger than her stomach. She didn’t seem to notice, though, and I politely avoided mentioning it.

When we finally took the spit off the fire, I fetched some light wine from the wagon, filling up two cups and passing one to Azalon. She thanked me with another of her bright, happy smiles, and then looked down at the meat as she slid one of the rabbits off of the spit. “So Lyriana...are you a big eater?”

Assuming that she was beginning to realize just how much food she had cooked, I gave her a sympathetic smile and shook my head. “Not terribly, I’m afraid,” I said, “But it all smells quite nice, so I’ll try to make it through as much as I can to cut down on waste.”

“Hahaha!” she laughed as if I’d made a joke, passing the first rabbit across to me and sliding off one for herself. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that!”

My sympathetic smile turned to a perplexed one as I started to wonder again. Did she really think she could eat all of that? “If you say so...” I muttered uncertainly, and tucked into the food I’d been given.

Mm!” I hummed with delight. The flavor was immediately succulent and wonderfully savory, and the herbs she had used blended deliciously. I picked out rosemary and thyme as I worked my way through a haunch, and there must have been others as well that I didn’t recognize. Wiping my mouth on a spare cloth, I swallowed and washed the meat down with a sip of wine. “Mh, it’s delicious! You’re quite the cook, Azalon, I must say. I haven’t had fresh game this good while traveling before.”

When I looked up, I was alarmed to see that she had already picked the bones clean of almost an entire rabbit! She ate fast, finishing off the last of the meat with famished eagerness before tossing the bones aside. Wiping her mouth as well with a cloth of her own, she smiled over at me with a happy glint in her eyes. “Thank you! This is why I always bring jars of spices with me when I travel.” To my shock, she reached over to the spit and slid off another rabbit, holding it in one hand and taking a gulp of wine. “ should try my sister’s cooking when we get to Springhaven. She’s the best!”

I simply nodded, and Azalon tore into her second rabbit with as much gusto as the first. She tore off haunches one by one, stripping the larger back legs with large, mouth-filling bites that she chewed for only a couple of seconds each. The smaller front legs were stuffed entirely into her mouth one at a time, she bit down, and they slid out again clean. She hungrily ate and ate, and within just another minute and a half she had finished the entire rabbit, its bones cast aside with the other’s. She raised her cup and took another mouthful of wine, swallowing it with a happy gulp.

BruUhpp~!” A hearty belch rumbled from her throat, short but strong. She let it hang in the air for a moment before seeming to remember her manners. “‘Scuse me!” she giggled lightly as she stood up, finishing the rest of her cup of wine. I thought she might be finished, until she took her cup over to the wagon to refill it and then sat down again.

She looked over at me and the rabbit still in my hands with only a single leg eaten. “Are you finished already?” I blinked a few times, realizing that I’d just watched her eat an entire rabbit without even touching my own. I felt suddenly self-conscious, wondering how she might judge me. She might think I was lying about her cooking, that I really thought it was disgusting!

I shook my head, not wanting her to come to such a conclusion. “No, I’m just...letting it cool down a bit,” I said, making an excuse. To prove I was hungry — even though I wasn’t, and could have comfortably stopped after the one haunch — I carried on eating and started on the second back leg.

Azalon seemed to accept my answer readily and slid off a third rabbit for herself. How could she still be hungry, I wondered as she started gleefully chowing down? Where was all that meat going? She was a large woman to be sure and with plenty of curves to spare, but not of the kind that would suggest eating habits like this! It was almost mesmerizing, watching her tear through the food so quickly and yet so casually.

Halfway through my second haunch I started to feel full, but the more I watched Azalon effortlessly devouring her share, the more pressured I felt to keep going. I didn’t want to disappoint her; she had saved my life, after all. In retrospect it was foolish and silly and she would probably not have been offended in the least, but in the moment it seemed very possible. I finished the haunch and gave a quiet breath. I could feel the pressure in my gut advising me against eating any more, and this time it was my turn to burp. I pressed my closed fist to my lips and did so with my mouth closed, muffling the sound as I could. I felt myself blushing slightly as I excused myself.

Azalon had already moved on to her fourth rabbit, the last one from the spit, but she gave me a knowing look that suggested she could tell I was trying to save face. “Are you sure you want to keep eating?” she asked gently and with sincere concern. “You seem pretty full. I’ll finish that if you like!”

I winced, ashamed at being caught. After a second, however, I managed a grateful smile and nodded, “Please do.” I passed the rabbit over to her, and she gladly took it. “I don’t know how you can put away so much.”

She just laughed and grinned at me, unabashed. “Papa always said I was a growing girl!” The remaining half of my rabbit as well as the entirety of her fourth both disappeared down her gullet along with another cup of wine over the next couple of minutes while I just sat transfixed and watched, gingerly holding my hands over my plaintively gurgling stomach.

Afterwards, she leaned back against the tree behind her with a contented sigh and patted her stomach lightly with the fingers of both hands, punctuating her feast with another loud belch that came rolling out of her esophagus like a snowball of satisfaction. Where the last one was short and succinct, this one told a story. It began high and airy and then tumbled down, growing in depth and weight for a few seconds straight, maybe three or four, before it ended as a low baritone rumble.


I felt the hot air buffet my face from what must have been six feet away, carrying the sweet scent of the wine mixed with the savory herbs of all five and a half rabbits like a luxurious reminder of a lovely meal past. It was the type of burp I would have expected from a man, and a fat, piggish slob of one as well, and yet from her it just seemed...impressive.

I sat in stunned silence for a moment, not only because that sound had come from the lips of such a flawlessly lovely face, but because I wasn’t disgusted or appalled, even though I felt as though I should be. Or perhaps I just wanted to be? She’d just stuffed herself with enough game to make a bear sick, while I’d barely gotten down half of one rabbit and probably wouldn’t be able to eat for the rest of the day! She chuckled softly and uttered another tardy “Excuse me” and smiled. What she said next made my jaw drop.

“That was excellent for a light breakfast snack! Should hold me over for a couple hours, at least until lunch.”

I felt as though I could have fainted there and then.
Last edited by Announcer on 16 Apr 2018, 20:07, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by GasWhore » 14 Apr 2018, 21:50

I know that I already sent you a private message praising this story... but please allow me to do it again in public.

You, good sir have single-handedly brought the entire Sights, Stories and Observations section out of purgatory! I am not
exaggerating when I say that this is one of the best stories that a member of this community has produced in a long time!
I am sorry if this comes off as over the top... but, I truly feel like this is going to be an absolutely wonderful story and I am so
excited to see where this story goes and I eagerly await your next post. Keep it up, man! You have some real talent for this! :3
Check out my Belly, gas, and other related works on Tumblr :sodaburp:

Aslo, if you are a fellow appreciator of big bellied, gassy furries feel free to stop by my Furaffinity and say hi! ;)

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by relus » 15 Apr 2018, 01:45

GasWhore wrote:
14 Apr 2018, 21:50
I know that I already sent you a private message praising this story... but please allow me to do it again in public.

You, good sir have single-handedly brought the entire Sights, Stories and Observations section out of purgatory! I am not
exaggerating when I say that this is one of the best stories that a member of this community has produced in a long time!
I am sorry if this comes off as over the top... but, I truly feel like this is going to be an absolutely wonderful story and I am so
excited to see where this story goes and I eagerly await your next post. Keep it up, man! You have some real talent for this! :3
Could not agree more

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by MrStealYoGirl » 15 Apr 2018, 18:56

I would also like to point out how incredibly your writing is. Honestly, I am not too big of a fan of this medieval fantasy type of fiction, but I still love reading just because of your excellence in writing. Keep it up!

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by RightWing » 16 Apr 2018, 21:17

Really well written, and definitelty seems like its gonna keep being an awesome story!
"It matters not who you love, where you love, why you love, when you love or how you love, it matters only that you love" John Lennon

:x :burp: :bigbelch: :bigbelch: :sodaburp: :ymapplause:

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by Announcer » 17 Apr 2018, 07:41

Bit of a delay on this one because I had a busier weekend than expected, but here's part four!


We packed up the campsite and set out back towards the road, starting on our journey to Springhaven. I lamented that I was unable to risk returning to the site of the ambush to honor the men who had died protecting me — even if I could take the chance, we had no tools to give them a proper burial. Azalon sympathized with me, and suggested that we could speak to the priest in town; he could make the journey and give them last rites.

Azalon rode her own horse and I on mine beside her with the wagon following behind us, all moving at a steady trot. We talked on and off throughout the journey, and she maintained a bright and infectious smile the whole way, but I tried to avoid looking at her too much. I wasn’t averse to her chipper positivity, in fact I was quite enjoying her bubbly commentary and the little tunes she would hum. It was a welcome distraction from the still fresh horror of the previous night, and I hadn’t encountered anyone willing to be so carefree or open around me in quite some time due to my being nobility.

Rather, I tried not to look because I didn’t want to start just staring at her again, or to start laughing. She had put on her gambeson, the padded coat that served as the first layer of her armor, before we started off. Even with that thick material covering her, though, the sheer size of her massive, perky chest made her bosom bounce visibly and heavily with the rhythm of her horse’s steps, and exactly at my eye level. It made her look rather ridiculous, hence my worry that I might laugh, but it was also another testament to the incredible proportions she sported, which had captivated me against my will or realization when I first saw her out of armor.

What I couldn’t avoid, however, was hearing her periodic burps. I wasn’t sure — and didn’t ask — if it was just normal for her or if the light bouncing and jostling of the trotting horse was shaking up her stomach, but it seemed like every ten or twenty minutes a burp would force its way out of her. Sometimes it would be in the middle of a sentence, otherwise it would be a sudden outburst from one point, while she was humming one of her little melodies, a particularly insistent one burst into her closed mouth mid-note like a growling beast, and she just carried on humming as if nothing had happened. Sometimes she would excuse herself, other times she would forget or perhaps not even notice she had belched. None of them were quite close to the monster that she’d unleashed after breakfast, though.

Just as she had predicted, a couple of hours into traveling she started feeling hungry again. We didn’t stop, as both of us knew the sooner we reached town the better, but her occasional burps were growing weaker, airier, and less frequent. Another hour in, I started hearing that loud, grumbling growl of her stomach again. GrrrroooOooOAAAWWwrRrrr~...

Azalon remained cheerful and accommodating, but I could detect some distinct discomfort creeping into her face. Neither of us wanted to stop and delay our journey for the hours it would take to hunt more food, so we carried on, but things only got worse. The longer we went, the more insistent her gut became, voicing its complaints louder and more often. Finally around mid-afternoon, the begging rumble in her belly was nearly constant, whining and growling every few seconds and at such a volume I’m certain it began to scare the horses. Azalon looked miserable, a hand clutching at her tummy and her face screwed up as she stared ahead at the road, wishing we were in Springhaven already.

I looked at her and sighed, unable to stand making her wait any longer for food, and declared we were stopping to eat. There was a look of joyful relief on her face even as she insisted she could manage until we arrived, but I insisted — just as much to spare myself and the horses from her roaring ogre of a stomach as to keep her from starving.

To save time, once we pulled off the road and found a good place to sit, I opened up the wagon’s food supply It was well-stocked, having been intended to keep me and my escort going for half the journey to Castle Harronfell, after which we intended to restock at a city along the way. I thanked the stars that Azalon’s home was less than a day away; if the rabbits that morning had been just a ‘light snack’ to her, who knew how long the rest of this would last her?

Most of the available food was bread and dried meat, with a few small wheels of cheese and of course the cask of light wine for drinking. I didn’t dare let her take her pick and serve herself freely, because as considerate as she seemed to be, I wasn’t sure she would be able to stop herself. Instead, I brought her food to her, which she very gratefully accepted: two loaves of bread, a few pounds of peppered dried beef, and a whole wheel of cheese. She dug in voraciously.

My assumption that morning of not being able to eat for the rest of the day had proved untrue, as by now my stomach was calmed down and seemed willing to accept some more food as well, so I sat down with a modest hunk of bread, some cheese, and a cup of wine for myself. While I nibbled on my snack, I watched Azalon tear through her meal like a woman possessed. It was difficult not to; she ate with the same eagerness as before, every bite a huge one taken with a seemingly contradictory mix of urgency and savored delight. The food now was certainly not as tasty as her expertly seasoned rabbit had been, but if she was dissatisfied at all she didn’t show it. Perhaps the variety of having cheese and bread this time rather than just meat and wine made up for it.

I must have refilled her wine cup for her a half-dozen times, but with as much food as she was taking in and with the metabolism she seemed to have, I didn’t find myself worrying whether she would get drunk so much as whether I would run out of wine to give her. Every so often she would pause her eating to let out a quick burp, even if her mouth was still full of food. A hunk of bread would vanish down her throat, followed by a fist-sized lump of cheese or a chunk of beef, and then “BwuUUrgh~!

It wasn’t long before she’d finished everything I gave her and she asked with another rumbling burp, “HoOOORP~! Is there any more?” Before I knew it, I was fetching her seconds and thirds of everything long after I had finished my own food. I almost felt like she was the noble and I was her serving maid, if not for her lacking manners and obscenely frequent eructations. I went back once more to give her yet another round of servings and found she had single-handedly eaten a full third of the food in the wagon!

“Not to be rude, Azalon,” I said to her worriedly, “But would you mind terribly if we got back on the road now?”

“Of co-oOoOOuUUuRRR-se!” she answered with a forceful, involuntary belch that sent her into a brief fit of giggling. I could smell the wine again, along with the thick dairy scent of the cheese. “Hahahah, ‘scuse me, sorry! I just needed a pick-me-up is all, we can always get a real meal in town! Thanks so much for getting me more, by the way, you didn’t have to.”

I smiled softly and nodded to her, “You’re welcome, of course,” but felt a reddening heat in my cheeks as I looked at the back of the wagon again. And I was worried SHE wouldn’t be able to control herself, I thought. What’s going on with me?

I packed up the remaining food, still a few days’ worth for a normal person, and shortly we were back to riding along. With so much filling food packed into Azalon’s stomach, the burps shaken free by riding were fewer but deeper and stronger. They would start muffled and low in her throat before she opened her mouth, and then rise up with building power to come charging out as she parted her perfect lips. “MmmghhaARP~!

Several minutes later, another: “MmguUUHRRP~!

And then later still: “MmheEEaaAurp~!

It must have been mundane for her, because half of them she didn’t even notice. A three-second belch would push its way out loud enough to wake the dead, and her face would be a mask of total, uncaring absence. Whenever reminded in any way of my presence, she would smile apologetically and excuse herself, and it seemed sincere enough but also felt as though it was purely for my benefit, to make me feel better rather than to express embarrassment or shame. I started to wonder what this sister of hers she had mentioned was like — would she, too, be a belching tower of curves?

It took perhaps forty-five minutes before I began hearing her stomach growling and gurgling again. I looked over at her with surprise. “You can’t be hungry again so quickly?” I asked with astonishment while her bowels noisily churned under her gambeson.

Azalon blushed and shook her head. “No, it’s not that,” she assured me, averting her gaze a bit. “I can hold out for a while now before we eat more. Oof, this is different, um...I think I’m having a bit of indi-”



I stared with eyes wide and mouth agape. The fart that had just blasted its way from her voluminous rump was a trumpeting, rumbling beast that bellowed deeper than a tuba at its lowest point. It vibrated her round cheeks for seven solid seconds, launching the cloak behind her upwards like a gust of, for lack of a better term, wind. I thought I caught a flash of something beneath it, but she had quickly reached back and yanked the cloak down, pinning it to the middle of her back with one arm — only for it to continue fluttering in her wind below it for the remainder of her brassy eruption.

The deep rosy blush tinting Azalon’s cheeks as she bit her lip with mixed relief and embarrassment showed that this outburst had definitely not gone unnoticed. She pulled her arm back from her cloak and grabbed her horse’s reins again, stammering slightly. “Um...uh, heheheh, er...e-excuse me...?” A sheepish, nervous smile replaced her usual pleasantly jolly one as she looked at me.

I didn’t know what to say for a moment, still parsing through what had just happened. That came out of her? “I-I...erm, y-you’re excused...” I managed to say.

There was a long moment of silence, both of us blushing in mutual embarrassment while the horses carried us forward. “...How much farther to Springhaven?” I asked.

“About ten miles? A couple of hours,” Azalon answered, her eyes focused straight forward.

“Wonderful,” I nodded, sealing our unspoken agreement not to bring up her accidental eruption again.
Last edited by Announcer on 19 Apr 2018, 10:35, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: The Firehair [Female, Fictional]

Post by Announcer » 19 Apr 2018, 10:32

Part five! No burps in this one, just some plot progression and introduction of another character.

Updates are probably going to be a bit slower coming than the first three parts for a while. I don't want to rush or force it, and while I am working from a very light outline of a few scenes I want to happen, I'm essentially making things up as it goes. Any suggestions, ideas, or requests are welcome, either for kink stuff or story stuff.

One thing I am curious about: what does everyone think about how the relationship is progressing between Lyriana and Azalon? I didn't want it to move along too fast and be love-at-first-burp, but I also want to make sure it's not going too slowly. How long should Lyriana stay unaware or in denial of her crush on Azalon and/or her burp fetish?


“Here we are!” Azalon announced with a bright grin as we crested over a small hill in the dimming evening light. She turned towards me and threw her arm out proudly towards the peaceful valley below. I urged my horse forward a few more steps and looked out to see a pleasant, rural beachside town straddling a small, curving river. Dozens of houses were scattered in small clusters around the river’s edge and the shore, and I could see the faint pinpricks of lanterns dotted amongst the streets. A cathedral sat atop a hill overlooking the town and the sea alike, and though it lacked the grand scale and architecture of those I had seen in larger cities, it appeared to be rather new and built with a rustic charm that spoke to its community’s devotion and care; if nothing else, it was certainly the most remarkable structure in sight. The whole town was encircled by a short stone wall of perhaps fifteen feet high, and stretching out beyond it on either side of the river were farmlands for quite some distance.

“Welcome to Springhaven, Lady Lyriana!” she declared with a beaming smile that I couldn’t help but echo lightly myself.

I nodded, gazing out over the town and already feeling relieved. I could smell the brine of the ocean already on the cool breeze. “Finally,” I sighed. “We can sleep in real beds and perhaps you’ll be able to eat enough to fill you for more than a couple of hours!”
I felt a pang of worry immediately after saying that, afraid she might have taken it poorly, but as I looked over to Azalon she just laughed and grinned at me, shrugging her shoulders. Once again her stomach gave a noisome grooOoOOAaWwWllLll~ as if to agree with me, which only made her laugh more. “Hahahaha! Definitely!” she concurred, rubbing her palm in small circles over her empty belly through her padded coat. “Come on, let’s go!”

We rode down the hill and onward into town. People milled about the streets and by their homes going about their end-of-day chores, children ran by in gangs chasing each other and playing with sticks, and a surprising number called out in greeting when they saw Azalon coming, including the children. Every time, she would return the favor with a smile and a wave, calling back with a hello of her own. I stayed quiet, happy to just take in the lovely idyllic charm of the place, but I did notice I was getting more than a few looks and some greetings of my own, usually with a measure of polite deference due to my expensive clothes. It was the sort of attention I was used to as the daughter of a land-owning noble; I waved back as well a few times.

Soon we arrived at what a modestly sized inn and tavern with a brightly painted sign hanging over its door, proclaiming its name as the “Four Winds Inn” beneath a depiction of a compass seemingly being carried by a cloudy gust. We put up our horses in the attached stable, where it seemed that Azalon in particular was given special consideration; when the stable boy saw her, he immediately led us back into an empty section of the stables where he put all four of the horses we had with us as well as the wagon.

We carried on inside and were greeted by a very homely ambience. The common room was large and open, lit by scattered candles, simple iron chandeliers, and a roaring fireplace at one end of the room. Opposite that was a small raised stage where a pair of men sat playing a jaunty folk tune on their instruments. Ten circular tables of roughly uniform size were scattered around the room along with several more lining the walls, about half of them occupied with village folk eating and drinking after their days’ work. Some I could tell were off-duty town guards by the light, colored armor they wore and the weapons at their belts. Very conspicuously, a table much larger than the rest sat in the center of the room with a single, wide-bottomed chair unoccupied at one end.

Everyone in the room seemed happy to see us as we came in, or more specifically, happy to see Azalon. A welcoming cheer rolled through the place as they acknowledged her arrival, some raising glasses to her while others waved or just flashed smiles her direction. She received them all with her usual smile and led me forward through the room, taking me towards the bar where a middle-aged woman stood waiting. “Welcome back, Azalon, dear!” she said with an almost motherly tone. “You’re back early; and who’s this lovely Lady you’ve brought to us?”

Azalon pulled up a chair and sat down, her huge, shapely bottom filling and overfilling the seat; I heard a light creaking in the wood as she eased into it. “This is Lady Lyriana of Harronfell,” she introduced me with a presenting gesture, bidding me to sit as well. “She’s had a bit of trouble and I brought her back here so she could get her bearings again. Is Azalea in?”

“She is,” the older woman nodded with a smirk, looking at Azalon knowingly. “But I’m afraid we weren’t expecting ya back so early, dear, so you might not go to bed quite full tonight. I’ll go fetch her and let her know you’re here.” With a kindly smile and a soft curtsy towards me, the woman vanished through a door by the bar into what smelled deliciously like the kitchen.

After a brief moment she returned with a much younger woman following behind her, perhaps my age, who I could immediately tell was the sister Azalon had mentioned. She lacked the formidable height of Azalon, or the intimidating, exaggerated curves (though she still outmatched me by no small margin!), but the flawless features of her smooth face and the bright, ember-colored hair and eyes were unmistakable, if a bit darker than her sister’s. She stood about as tall as me, dressed in a comely yellow and green dress detailed with simple flower patterns, with a cook’s apron draped over the front.

Azalea, as I gathered her name to be, approached Azalon and embraced her — though not before standing on her toes, I noticed, to avoid being smothered by her sister’s humongous chest. “Azzie!” she said cheerfully.

“Zale!” Azalon echoed, squeezing her sister tightly in a joyful bear hug that I worried for a moment might snap the smaller girl’s spine. “Let me introduce you to my new friend,” friend? “Lyriana, this is my little sister Azalea. Azalea, this is Lyriana!”

“‘Little’ nothing...” I muttered, only realizing it had been out loud when Azalea gave a chuckling snort. “Ahem, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The younger Deguellios sister gave me an amused half-smile and nodded. “You, too. Don’t worry though, it’s not just you: Azalon’s gigantic. Taller than our papa, too!” Azalon rolled her eyes and gave Azalea a softly admonishing shove, but Azalea just chuckled again. “So, how’d Azzie get her hooks in you, Lyriana? Was it her roguish charm or her enormous curves?”

I leaned back slightly and felt a blush burning my cheeks, though I wasn’t sure why. There was no truth to her question, nothing between me and Azalon; certainly, Azalon was indeed quite charming and beautiful in more ways than just her incredible figure, and I did very much admire that, but we weren’t an item. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been caught with a secret.

Luckily, Azalon herself came to my rescue (again) with a plaintive, almost playful whine. “Zaaaale! It’s not like that!” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the counter. “I don’t try to hook up with every pretty girl I meet! Lyriana’s the Count of Harronfell’s daughter, she was on her way back home when her escort got ambushed! I brought her here so she could be safe and figure out what to do next.”

Azalea raised an eyebrow, not looking entirely convinced by the first part. After the explanation, however, she nodded sympathetically. “Okay, I see...I’m sorry to hear that. Were you heading back to Castle Harronfell?” she asked, to which I answered that I was. She frowned. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but last I heard, Castle Harronfell came under siege again a few days ago. It sounds bad.”

My heart sank. Azalon gave me a worried glance. I couldn’t go back home while it was under attack; for all I knew, that was why I had been ambushed. The orc hadn’t tried to kill me, after all...what if I was meant to be a captive, for leverage?

I looked up again. “That causes some problems...I can’t go back to my aunt, they might look for me there. I...I think I may need to stay here longer than expected to work things out.”

Azalon and Azalea both nodded, looking at each other thoughtfully. “I can send a messenger bird to your aunt’s estate,” Azalea offered. “That way, at least someone knows what’s happened and people with more resources than us can start making plans. How does that sound?”

“Perfect, thank you,” I replied with a nervous smile. “I’ll write a letter for you to send first thing in the morning.”

Azalea answered with a reassuring smile, and Azalon gently put a hand on my shoulder. “Of course. For tonight, just focus on getting some rest. I can put you up in one of the nicer rooms until you’re ready to leave. I’m going to get some food ready; I’ll bring you a plate.” I thanked her again as she stood up and glided back into the kitchen

“Don’t worry, everything will work out fine,” Azalon told me. “Zale and I will take care of you! That’s my promise. Like I told you before, she’s the best cook; her food will make you feel better.”

I certainly hoped so.

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