Too Much of a Good Thing

As Donna and Rhys lead you deeper into the sprawling complex that is the elven palace, you can't help but consider the ramifications of the Queen's explanation of your two worlds and how they drift alongside one another. Are the occasional bumps she describes the source of the stories of mysterious visitors and the capricious, unknowable Other that have long filled human reckoning? Did those inter-reality events seep into the sleeping minds of mortals, directly inspiring the more fantastical works of Shakespeare, or the bold imaginings of Tolkien?

Because if so, there are a lot of people who are gonna wake up tomorrow and confusedly begin work on some truly fucked up speculative fiction. Because you're being personally led through the Ancient Throne of mankind's ethereal cousins, and it's some sort of messed up blend of high fantasy, early MTV and an original copy of the board game Mall Madness. You're seeing it awake, and even then it's way too much. You pity the poor slobs who have to try to parse through this shit in their dreams.

Donna grins when she spots you gawping at the gossamer and glitter-speckled halls of her people, raising her voice to be heard over the excited clamor of all the elves in white coats running here and there. "Everyone's pretty hyped right now, obviously! This is the first time we've had a steady connection to your world in my lifetime, and no one wants to risk it closing again before we get some real juicy stuff!"

Isabelle steps out of the way of a frenzied-looking elf girl in coke bottle glasses and suspenders, watching her sprint by in fascination. "Why are they all dressed like mad scientists and movie nerds?"

Rhys gives her a curious look. "Do your wizards not dress like that anymore?"

Oh boy. The Doc Brown cosplaying wizards excitedly gather around what at first glance appear to be huge mirrors floating throughout the area, murmuring among themselves and frantically scratching down notes onto pads of paper. You veer off to take a closer look, discovering that they are in fact sheets of silvered water drawn thinly over frames of snow-white and ebony feathers, and that the elves are apparently watching old episodes of Oprah in the luminous reflection they cast. Fucking wild. Donna calls out to what must be the head wizard, because he's got two pocket protectors. "Well? What new mysteries have you uncovered?"

The wizard makes a triumphant motion with his pencil. "I have good news! Tom Cruise is still around! And he's insane now!"

"Awesome!" Donna can't help shaking her head in wonder. "Wow, we really--"

"Omigod look!"

The entire chattering crowd of elves goes quiet as one of their number squeals in astonishment, pointing towards her mirror and replaying what she just saw. For thirty seconds, everyone watches in breathless silence as a tiny dog struts around to festive horn playing. Then, they collectively **** back gasps at words that seem to fundamentally alter their entire existence: "Yo quiero Taco Bell."

The elves go absolutely buttfuck at that, throwing their papers ecstatically into the air as they hug and dance and shriek about what a good deal two tacos for ninety nine cents is. Donna and Rhys are barely less effected, the royal twins beside themselves with delight as they lead you back to the designated path. Okay, you've gotta ask. You're gonna ask. "Guys, I'm absolutely positive this is going to sound rude? But...what's with the whole Taco Bell thing?"

Rhys and Donna balk at that, share a glance, then look back with something bordering on embarrassment. Rhys speaks first. "Oh. I mean, it's nothing. It's not a big deal."

Donna quickly agrees. "Yeah, really! No big deal!"

Isabelle isn't buying it. "It sort of seems like a big deal."

The prince coughs awkwardly, looking as if he's trying to find the best way to present something. "Well, it's just...we study the things in your world that are strange, and powerful. And your people always seem so happy in their fast food restaurants. Right? Everyone is always smiling!"

You scrunch up your face, trying to follow the thought. "In fast food commercials?"

Donna points to you as if you've definitely got it, which you definitely don't. "Yeah! And it's just, like, we think it'd be nice if we were able to experience that type of joy. It's just silly fun; it's really not a big deal."

Rhys nods. "Donna and I aren't even that observant. Christmas only, really, and Mom's birthday. The occasional Sunday."

Isabelle is, if anything, more confused than before. "But why Taco Bell specifically?"

Donna purses her lips. "Well it just makes sense, right? We had to pick one of them, so obviously the most unique choice is the clearest choice. Right? Instead of just another burger joint. Right?" She looks back at Rhys, who is absolutely on the same page. The queen seems to be getting a bit worked up. "And I don't care what anyone says, I do not trust that Dave Thomas guy. He's up to something!"

Rhys pounds his fist into his open palm. "He's too nice!"

"Yeah exactly! He's definitely got, like, an attic full of orphan bones I'll bet!"

The twins are getting worked up into a zealous fervor, and you feel compelled to step in. "Um, well I'm pretty sure that guy died, like, twenty years ago. So...the world is safe?"

Donna and Rhys's relief is palpable at this revelation, and Isabelle does her best to pull them back on track. "So who is this 'her' you're taking us to?"

The queen blinks. "Oh. The Great Mother of the Order, of course."

Oh shit really?! You have no idea if you should be thrilled or terrified. One one hand, this is someone who could lead you and your friends' magical journey, someone who can help explain and guide your burgeoning powers. On the other hand, this could just as easily be someone who's a tad miffed at you co-opting her sorcery, and is fully prepared to reduce you to a dust cloud to make clear the point. Witches aren't traditionally jealous and mistrusting, right? Right?

Fuck.

The queen and prince have lead you well past what seems to be the main chambers of the palace, the four of you now picking your way down a narrow staircase. Donna fiddles with her sunglasses, looking back at you and your girlfriend with a touch of apprehension. "You guys are warded, right?" You nod, and she presses you further. "And you're confident they're...good wards, right?"

Isabelle raises her thick eyebrows in alarm as you haltingly answer. "I...think so? At least, I didn't have any reason to think they weren't. Before, you know, right now."

Donna giggles nervously at that, waving her hand in a failed attempt at reassurance. "You'll be fine then! Just some ground rules, okay? Don't touch anything, don't get anything on you, and don't touch anything."

Isabelle clears her throat. "You..said 'don't touch anything' twice?"

"Really? I meant to say it three times. Don't. Touch. Anything."

Rhys cuts in. "Also, they shouldn't touch anything."

Donna hums appreciatively. "Oh, good catch! Seriously, do not touch anything." You've already opened your mouth to suggest that you all just turn around and go watch those Oprah reruns when you find yourself standing before a heavily barred and bolted door. Rhys sets about undoing the various locks as Donna turns to you and Isabelle, wiggles her hands before her, and then meaningfully mimes sliding them down.

You and Isabelle silently stuff your hands into your pockets as Rhys releases the final latch, and the door swings open.

It's tough to say hits you first: the otherworldly, bestial lowing, or the overpowering odor of fuck scent and too-sweet milk that sends you recoiling. The room buried beneath the elves' palace is tidy, spacious, neatly lit, and filled almost to the brim with a mass of wobbling, shuddering flesh that it takes you several moments to realize is a woman. Breasts the size of elephants gurgle and groan as they rest enormously on the ground, a pair of elves in full diving suits holding either barrel-sized nipple in a headlock to direct the river of thick milk they spew out down a huge drain. Her vast hips and thighs swell past the point of hiding her feet, spread wide by bloated pussy lips that squelch and gush ribbons of cum with every torrent of cream she squirts. She has to be eleven or twelve feet tall, but even still her frame is utterly dwarfed by her freakishly overgrown assets, the only indication she has a head at all the wild mane of red-gold hair that hangs all the way down to pile up at her sides. This, apparently, is the Great Mother.

It must be a familiar sight to Donna and Rhys, because while you're aghast and Isabelle looks like she might be sick, the queen is entirely unperturbed. "Well, here she is!"

You want so much to look away, but you just can't. "What the fuck happened to her?!"

Rhys frowns, rubbing at the back of his neck. "We thought you could tell us, honestly. Mom said she wasn't like this during the first exchange. But then twenty years ago the worlds crossed, she tumbled through like this, and then they uncrossed again."

"What is she...I mean, how..." You have no idea where to even start. "Where is all that milk going?!"

The prince shivers a little, glancing at the ocean of pearly white cautiously. "Oh, straight into a furnace. We learned pretty quickly that you don't want any of the Great Mother's fluids anywhere near you."

Donna makes a grim face, leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper. "A few months ago one of the attendants had a leak in her suit, and the Great Mother came on her? Her ladybits grew so big that she couldn't stand or even move. Had to be strapped down for a week."

Isabelle carefully swallows, adjusting her glasses in vain attempt to regain some control of the situation as she turns away from the lurid scene. "A week? So it wears off, at least?"

Donna snorts. "For us elves, sure. Magic doesn't work very well on us. But for someone else..."

Rhys cuts in "For example, like a human..."

"...Let's just say this. You remember how I said that sometimes our worlds bump, and when they do, there can be some cross over?" You nod, and Donna continues. "Well, something like that happened a year or so after she came back in this state. A human slipped through worlds, yeah? Apparently they were still figuring out how to best deal with the Mother and her givings then, and they didn't see a reason for all the locks on the door yet. By the time they'd found him, he'd fallen head-first into a trough of her...assorted liquids."

Isabelle reluctantly asks what you both know needs to be asked. "What happened to him?"

"See for yourself. " Oh fuck no. You don't have time to explain that you really, really don't need to see more before two more diving suit wearing elves appear, leading by the hand a placid, gargantuan form that vaguely suggests the shape of a man. He's even taller than the Great Mother and outrageously overmuscled, having to slump to keep the tiny head that is all but swallowed up by his insane shoulders from scraping against the ceiling. His arms call to mind a gorilla more than a man, so bursting with sinew and rockhard power that if he tried to hold them flat at his side he may very well explode. Thin, waddling legs spread wide to allow room for a stuffed sack the size of a beanbag chair and an anaconda-like shaft that even soft drags along the floor. He is a grotesque parody of masculinity in an almost perfect mirror of the Great Mother's ungodly femininity, a hulking man-mountain who's seeming sole purpose is to cart around and support genitals that would make a Titan strongly consider joining a nunnery.

He's quiet and dull as his two handlers lead him into the room, but as soon as the Great Mother begins to let out increasingly needy whines he starts to snuffle at the air. Her obscenely plush rear quivers as she jettisons a web of girlcum onto the floor, his slowly hardening monstercock splattering out a thick rope of pre as he starts shuffling towards her with increasingly bull-like grunts of desire.

Donna slams the door shut, turning around to beam at your and Isabelle's shellshocked faces as Rhys begins to reset all of the locks. "So! You can fix them, right?" You haven't even begun figuring out how to respond to that when Rhys stiffens, his head tilting to one side as he listens to something. His sister furrows her brow, poking the suddenly alert prince. "What's up?"

"Something's wrong. There's someone get down!"

Rhys pushes the queen to the ground and draws the sword at his back in one fluid motion, the crystalline blade flaring in the light of the subterranean passage as he brings it up to block the blow that was aimed for her head. He staggers as flaming club meets blade, then gasps as his weapon shatters in his hands and he stumbles off his feet. He makes to rise, only to be slammed back to the ground with a grunt as he's pinned to the ground by a boot. It's all he can to do gape at the architect of his defeat as she flips her hair over her shoulder and threateningly points her baseball bat into his face, still billowing in prismatic fire.

"No goddamn elves are gonna turn my friends into sex monsters!"

Donna stares up at the combative girl, jaw slack and green sunglasses dangling off of one ear. Then she bursts into a hysterical giggle, and before long you and Isabelle have joined in. Even poor Rhys manages a bit of a chuckle, difficult as that is with a foot pressed into one's chest.

If Jenny shares the group's amusement, she hides it very very well.