Mussage

“Oh? My name is Pippa, not Tinkerbell! Please remember it correctly next time, Brian Bladeboss!”

Pippa bopped Brian on his nose with her tiny hand, shot ahead like a strawberry-blonde missile, mailbag slapping against her own ass with every frantic wingbeat.

“This way! This way! Flora is so excited!”

Brian waddled after her, not really in a hurry. Having been used to this land already, he knew that Flora’s excitement could be about baking an extra delicious pie or something stupid like that.

Behind him, Minnie Spoonful clattered along in her maid shoes, clipboard hugged to her enormous chest, beehive bouncing like a second head trying to escape.

“I should mention,” Minnie panted, glasses sliding down her nose, “that I am still on official tour duty. The Queen said accompany until the whole castle has been introduced. We have not introduced the west linen closet. Or the east linen closet. Or the closet that is just full of extra closets. There are several closets remaining.”

“Put the closets on hold, Minnie,” Brian grunted.

“The extra-closet closet is actually something special, something you can really get lost in,” Minnie muttered, making a sad little note. “But I will… postpone. For now.”

The village square was already loud before they even turned onto Cinnamon Lane.

Music. Real music.

Not Melody’s cat-strangling chalkboard massacre. Actual rhythm. Actual melody. People were singing.

Flora was waiting outside The Honey Hearth, bouncing on her heels so hard her C-cups threatened to hop out of her dress. The second she saw him she grabbed both of his meaty hands.

“Brian! You came! Oh, you have to hear this! After Melody woke up this morning she could not stop writing! Notes and notes and notes! She filled three whole books! And then she started playing! On the streets! It was like… like she was possessed or something! And Brian… people stayed. They actually stayed. Nobody ran away. Nobody covered their ears. They gathered. They followed her here. Tansy’s inn is completely full!”

Brian blinked.

Melody. The same Melody who nearly killed his eardrums the first time they met.

He had to see this.

They pushed inside.

The Honey Hearth was packed wall to wall with villagers. Tables had been shoved aside. Tansy stood behind the bar with her massive tits resting on the counter, clapping along, honey-brown eyes shining. Melody stood on top of a table in the center of the room, copper twin tails whipping, sky-blue dress already riding up her dancer’s thighs, golden lyre in her hands, belting her lungs out.

And the crowd was singing with her.

Like a pop concert. Like she had just dropped the biggest hit in a land that had no actual music industry.

Then Brian began paying attention to the words.

He took his special friendship stick

And slid it in my secret spot

It stretched me out and made me kick

Everything in my body got so hot!

Brian stopped in his place.

He pushed it deep, he made me shake

My tummy did a looping twirl

The good feelings began to break

And now I want to tell the world

The whole inn roared the chorus back at her.

MUSSAGE! MUSSAGE! MAKE THE BADNESS GO!

MUSSAGE! MUSSAGE! LET THE GOODNESS FLOW!

Melody’s lyrics were almost childishly simple. She had the vocabulary of a six-year-old describing a thunderstorm.

She was also, without any possible doubt, singing about Brian ramming his fat cock through her virgin pussy until she passed out on a piano.

Brian’s mouth hung open. A slow, filthy grin crawled across his face.

These idiots were singing along to a sex ballad and they probably thought it was a friendship anthem.

Melody hit a high note, spun, and her eyes locked onto him through the crowd.

“BRIAN!”

She leaped off the table.

The crowd parted like she was royalty. She sprinted, launched, and slammed into his lap so hard his body nearly fell backwards. Her legs wrapped around him. Her perky B-cups squashed against his chest.

She planted a huge, wet, noisy smooch right on his cheek, leaving a shiny lipstick mark.

“Everybody!” she shouted, still hanging on him, still grinding her crotch against the growing bulge in his pants without a clue what that bulge was. “This is Brian Bladeboss! He is a MASTER of “mussage”! He changed my whole life! He took all my bad feelings and pushed them right out of my pee-hole with his special tool! If you have stress! If your music is broken! If your tummy feels weird! HE CAN FIX YOU!”

The inn erupted.

Hands shot up. Women shoved forward. A baker with flour still on her tits. A florist with a rack that could knock someone unconscious. Tansy herself leaned over the bar so far her cleavage nearly spilled out of her dress.

“Me next!”

“I have had a very long week of being happy!”

“Does it work on lower back tension?”

“I want the good feelings!”

A few men raised their hands too, smiling with that same sexless, brotherly eagerness.

Brian’s smile died for half a second.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” he said, holding up a greasy palm. “The mass… I mean, the ‘mussage’ only works on women. Men’s bodies are built different. The tool does not… interface. Sorry, fellas. Ladies only.”

The men nodded immediately, perhaps a little disappointed, but completely satisfied with that explanation.

The women surged closer.

Brian’s cock went iron-hard under Melody’s bouncing ass. He looked at the crowd of gorgeous, smiling, brainless virgins pressing in around him and pictured every last one of them bent over Tansy’s tables, skirts up, taking his dick one after another while they thanked him for removing their stress.

He was going to fuck this entire inn.

He was going to turn Sugarspire into a pure fuckfest.

“Excuse me.”

Minnie’s clipboard appeared between Brian and the nearest pair of tits like a bureaucratic shield.

She pushed her glasses up. They fell down. She pushed them up again.

“I am very sorry,” Minnie said, her voice going official and squeaky at the same time. “But what you are all requesting sounds an awful lot like asking Envoy Bladeboss to perform a profession. And all professions in the kingdom are regulated by royal experts. To perform any profession-like job, an expert must first confirm that the person is qualified. This is the law. I have the law. You know law.”

The crowd deflated a little.

“Oh,” Flora said, disappointed. “Is massage… or mussage, I’m not sure of the pronunciation… a profession?”

“If people are lining up and asking for it, and it changes lives, and there is a tool involved,” Minnie recited, tapping her pen, “then yes. Profession. We learned this the hard way.”

Brian’s eye twitched. “The hard way.”

Minnie nodded gravely, beehive bobbing.

“Three summers ago, a very enthusiastic gentleman named Mister Crumble decided he was good enough to bake without certification. He said friendship was his only ingredient. He made a batch of Courage Cookies. The cookies grew legs. Then arms. Then they unionized. Then they got… weird. Princess Lumi had to sword-fight a sourdough loaf in the town square for two hours while it shouted about workers’ rights. After that, the Queen made the expert rule. No profession without an expert. Not even a little bit.”

A few villagers nodded, remembering. One old woman shivered.

“The bread had such angry eyes,” she whispered.

Brian wanted to strangle mister Crumble for cockblocking him like this.

“Fine,” he growled. “Where do I get an expert then. Who do I have to impress. Point me at them.”

Minnie adjusted her glasses. They fell down. She left them.

“Technically,” she said, “I am one. Queen’s assistant. Certified inspector of new trades, temporary stalls, and anything that looks like a job but is pretending to be a hobby. I have a stamp. Somewhere. In my pockets. I think.”

Brian’s annoyance melted into something much worse.

A slow, lecherous, yellow-toothed grin spread across his face.

He looked at Minnie. Really looked. The beehive. The sliding glasses. The nervous little mouth. And then that body. That ridiculous, overstuffed, maid-uniform-bursting body. Those heavy tits fighting the bodice. That plump ass. Those thick, stocking-wrapped thighs.

He was going to ruin this awkward little bureaucrat.

“Tansy,” Brian called, not taking his eyes off Minnie. “Can I borrow the upstairs room. I need to demonstrate my skills. For the expert. Officially.”

Tansy clapped her hands, her massive tits bouncing. “Of course, dear! Room three is all made up! Take all the time you need! I will send up tea!”

“No tea,” Brian said. “Just the room.”

Melody hopped off his lap, still buzzing. “You are going to love it, Minnie! The good feelings are so good! I wrote seventeen songs about them!”

Minnie clutched her clipboard like a holy relic and followed Brian up the stairs, rambling the whole way.

“I should warn you I have never inspected a mussage before. I do not have a form for it. I may have to invent a form. I am very good at forms. Once I made a form for forms. The Queen said that was too many forms. I still think about that form.”

Brian opened room three, shoved her inside, and shut the door.

It was the very same frilly pink guest room he had jerked off in on his first night.

Minnie stood in the middle of the rug, clipboard up like a shield, glasses crooked.

“I admit,” she said, “I have no idea what I should expect. Is there a written component. An oral component. Do I take notes during or after. Should I rate you on a scale of one to full friendship.”

Brian walked a slow circle around her. His eyes crawled over every tight inch of that uniform.

“First part of the mussage,” he said. “Remove your clothes.”

Minnie blinked.

“My… clothes.”

“All of them.”

She looked down at herself, then at him, then at the clipboard, as if the clipboard might have an answer printed on it.

“I do not understand. For baking inspections we check the baking skill. For gardening we check the gardening skill. Why would a mussage require the evaluator’s body… to be checked.”

Brian considered it.

The usual speech sat on his tongue. Friendship energy. Fabric barriers. Scone Spire tradition. The same greasy pile of bullshit that had stripped Flora, Melody, Caethelia, and Lilia without a fight.

He did not feel like using it.

Something meaner was bubbling in his chest. These people swallowed every lie he fed them.

This one, with her stamp and her clipboard and her little rules. Something about her prissy attitude had really annoyed him all day.

He wanted her uncomfortable.

He wanted to see her break.

“I said,” Brian repeated, stepping closer, his voice dropping, “take your clothes off.”

Minnie swallowed. Her fingers tightened on the clipboard.

“But I still do not-”

“Now.”

The word came out harder. Meaner. He loomed over her, all sweat and teeth and greasy intent.

Minnie’s face went pink. She set the clipboard down on the bed with both hands, very carefully, like it might break. Then she reached back and started unlacing her bodice.

The laces popped. The black fabric peeled apart.

Those heavy, pale tits spilled out in a slow, glorious drop, bigger than they had any right to be on a woman who tripped over her own sentences.

Fat, round, veined a little at the sides, capped with wide dusty-pink nipples that were already tightening in the cool air. They hung with real weight. The kind of tits that would slap together if she ran.

She pushed the uniform down over her hips.

The skirt and the rest of it puddled at her ankles. White stockings stayed on because she forgot them, or because she was too flustered to think. Her panties were plain white cotton, stretched tight over a plump mound and a round, juicy ass that jiggled when she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down.

She stepped out of everything.

Brian stared.

A thick string of drool stretched from his lower lip and broke onto his tunic.

She was built like a porn parody. Thick thighs. A heavy, heart-shaped ass that looked like it had been designed specifically to take a spanking. Between her legs, a fat, puffy pussy with a neat patch of black hair.

The beehive was still perfect. The glasses were still sliding down. She looked like a naked librarian who had wandered into the wrong neighborhood.

“Is this…” Minnie asked, voice small, hugging her clipboard to her stomach now, which only squashed her tits around it. “Is this okay. Do we proceed.”

Brian wiped the drool off his chin with the back of his hand.

His cock was a solid, ugly bar in his pants, already leaking.

“Oh, Minnie,” he rasped, eyes crawling over every inch of her. “I think we will.”

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