Resist the need, journey on

Your head feels somewhat clearer, though the musk impregnating the air fills you with need. You push it aside and rise wearily to your feet. “We must keep moving,” you tell them both. “We can’t stay here for another patrol to pass by.”

“No more patrols,” the wug says quickly. “We safe here. Not until tomorrow does another come.”

The rapidity of his reply makes you suspicious. Your face grows stern with purpose. You push yourself from the wall of the mangrove and glare down at your guide. “You will show us the way. Now,” you tell him. “Or you will never again drink of Tokonga’s milk.”

Such a threat at once chastens the wug. He shrinks, cringing before you. “Yes. Will show. Will.” His bulbous eyes linger on your cum splattered folds. You frown, for the moment regretting the fact your robes cannot hide your full body anymore, but push the thought aside. “Lead on,” you order sharply to your former lover.

The wug shuffles to the entrance of the mangrove cave. He pokes his head out, looking quickly down both routes, then moves forward.

You wait until he is out of sight, then groan and massage your inflated breast. “Goddess. Does it always feel that good?”

Brigette nods, smiling in girlish embarrassment, like she had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. “Yes, sister. It does for me.”

“Mm. A great blessing,” you sigh. You shake your head and return to the matter at hand. “Are you well enough to travel?”

“Yes. But, what of you?”

You wince. A hand moves to your stomach and you idly rub the firm flesh. “I’ll be fine. We’d best hurry though.”

You lead Brigette out from the mangrove cave. The wug has not wandered far, waiting by one of the trees perched on their roots over the salty water. You hurry to join him, and he silently leads you on. Your journey through the marsh is largely silent; save the soft sound of the waves you make washing against the ground. Soon enough the marsh fades around you, and once more you walk on the sand of the beach. The cliffs are gone, made way for the gentle rolling sand dunes, tufted with grass like cheap green toupees on one side, the endless expanse of the shining ocean on the other.

As the wug leads you among the rolling hills you cannot help notice how he looks back at you often with a certain intentness you do not like. You wonder at this, as you do a slight heaviness which develops in your stomach. Once, when rubbing your stomach, feeling what seems like a faint bulge there, you spot the wug watching. Seeing the motion, an expression flashes across his face, something you could not identify before he turned back around. Wariness grows in you, and you keep a hand close to the sword of the saint as you traverse the dunes.

It is nearly nightfall when the wug at last calls a halt. He stands atop a tall dune, a look of worry on his amphibian face. “What’s happened?” you ask at once, climbing the rise. You stop at the top in surprise. In the distance, flush against the sun, you can see the triangular sails of a ship, a sudden mark against an otherwise flat and featureless void of the ocean.

“A ship Brigette! I see one!”

“No!” the wug croaks. He darts before you, hopping frantically from one foot to the other. He looks with despair to Brigette. “Tokonga! You cannot! Men with sword and chain on that one! Will do horrible things! Goddess! Do not go! Will steal you. Never see again!”

“What men with chains?” you demand harshly. “What are you on about?”

“Tribe sometimes trades. Buy women from them. Useful. But will take Tokonga. Take both if go to them.”

You connect these points in your mind. “Slavers?” you wonder.

“How horrible!” Brigette gasps.

“Yes! Yes!” The wug grabs your hand in his reptilian ones. Frantically he tugs at you. “Not go. Come with me! Will keep safe. Safe. Know place. Go away. Not find us.”

You stare down at the wug in repugnance. A sudden gurgle in your belly has you clap a hand against it. The wug sounds sincere, but what is that to you? Could he not simply be lying to try and keep you from your saviours? Again you look up to the black and red sails of the distant vessel. A speck has pulled from it. A boat, one coming to shore. You must decide now.