Alchemical Augmentations: A Growth Story

“Time to inform the sisters and see how soon we can begin…”, the woman hummed with a refreshing, necessary stretch once she set the now prepared candles back into her satchel, and had a few moments for herself. Arthea had no clues why she felt the way she did, but for some odd reason the entirety of her body sensed as if her attire had shrunk somewhat. It was a rather odd and incomprehensible experience, yet not necessarily a terrible one. In fact if anything, it felt quite nice, a warm radiance pulsing in the entirety of her frame.
‘It must be the vapour. My robes are made of wool, they must have diminished slightly in the steam…’, she concluded as she raised a hand to her mouth. Since she was no longer melting wax, and the concoction of smoke and vapour had also mostly dissipated through the little holes to the surface that provided oxygen to her room, the priestess decided that it was no longer a must to cover her face, so she quickly unwrapped the scarf she had used. Doing so, she could notice tiny droplets of pink gleaming on the surface of the wet cloth, seemingly untouched.
‘Hmmm… I wonder…’, she mused with eyes fixed on the inviting driblets. ‘A mere lick can’t be harmful, right?’

Before she could gather the necessary self control not to act precipitately, the maid already found herself licking her scarf, her pink tongue collecting two or three of the similarly coloured tiny globules. Arthea involuntarily and instinctively let loose of a childish giggle the instant she sensed the taste of honeyed strawberry on her tongue, her inexplicable joy only growing as she gulped and felt the droplets rolling down along her throat.
‘Mhmm…a taste worth of our goddesses…’, the thought ran through her mind as she traced her fingers down her body, one hand stopping by her prominent rack, but the other only finding peace at her crotch that all of a sudden began to tingle.
“Aahh…”, she let go of a sweet sound of pleasure as her mind was overrun by a pink mist, and she involuntarily groped her left breast, fiddling gently with the nipple that poked through the attire.
“It feels so nice… So hoooot…”, she cooed again biting sensuously at her bottom lip just as she stretched again, her body rising along with her movement as a result of her lengthening thighs. The woman grabbed harder against the flesh of her mound, or at least, that was how she interpreted the event of her breasts gaining an entire cup size, stretching the hole of her scarlet dress to its possibly absolute limit and swelling against the fabric. Her strands grew just longer enough for her not to notice the changes as they cascaded enough to provide the same amount of cover to her mightier appearance as before. This time Arthea’s growth stopped at 6’4, the priestess gaining four inches in a single spurt. But this time not only her height changed as fit feminine muscle was visible through the fabric of her sleeves and even the part of her dress covering her stomach appeared to be…m‘This is incredible! I cannot wait for the ritual ! With this wonderful essence, I can easily conjure our goddess back to the surface of Earth…more form fitting.
‘This is incredible! The ritual will be an absolute success! With this wonderful essence, I will easily bring our goddess back…’, she thought in a blissful state as she massaged her rack sensuously even now, with her transformation done. If just a small sample was enough to stimulate her this intensely, she could only imagine the urges it would generate from a succubus.

Yes, Arthea’s… the chapel’s true goddesses were nothing else but succubi. The Chapel of the Nymphs of Beauty worked as a charity and herbal organisation on the surface. The nuns living there claimed to be utilising natural methods and herbal elixirs, just like the alchemist outside Durmrin. The key difference consisted in a mere detail: the priestesses claimed to be lacking any little aspect of magic, and to be working with just herbal based medicine. They praised the spirits… the nymphs of delicacy and nature, and they offered their services for anyone in need, without asking for payment. They held public ceremonies and basically served as the Church of the town, preaching their beliefs and granting free access into their monastery to anyone…But no one was allowed inside the catacombs. And her we arrive underneath the surface. To the shady side of the sisters’ lives. Arthea, and the other nuns were not followers of the nymphs. It was only an illusion, a lie towards the outside world, so that no one could uncover their true deities: the succubi. The priestesses believed that those nefarious creatures marked the state of true perfection, the superbness of the body and eroticism. They possessed everything a mere human could aspire for. Eternal youth. Lust. Beauty beyond the laws of nature. Power. Magic. Succubi were amongst the strongest magical entities in human folklore, with their power being greatly increased by the subjugation and devouring of much weaker mortals. In the darkness of the catacombs underneath the chapel, they were adored and worshipped. In Arthea’s life, they were glorified and worshipped…

After what could easily be counted as hours in her mind, the priestess finally let go of her sensitive flesh, standing up from her previous sitting position, and all of a sudden letting go of a painful grunt as she sensed her toes and almost entire feet aching.
“What the-?”, she groaned as her gaze fell onto her boots, and she took notes of the way the leather seemed to be stretched by her own flesh.
“My feet are swollen…”, and her breathing became ragged as she seemingly found herself stressed out by her recent discovery. In reality, she only experienced difficulties with refilling her lungs due to the way her dress became skin tight around her much larger mounds though. But Arthea didn’t notice it yet.
‘I should take these off…-‘, but suddenly she was interrupted by a hasty knock on her door.
“Sister Arthea! The sisters are ready for the ritual. We are waiting for you, Invoker.”
“Immediately. I will join you in a second!”, she responded instantly as a new kind of anticipation, in the same time, anxiety moved in her soul, temporarily fading the pain. It was her time!

Arthea forced her mind to ignore her misery as she now reached for her bed, taking a thick, hefty, and extensive crimson cloak, her chasuble. The robe, that the woman now covered herself with was made of the finest wool inside the monastery, and contained the symbols tattooed on Arthea’s face both on the fore and backside, the shape being accentuated with golden strings sewn into the cloth. This was an important emblem for the priestess, as it was the coat of arms of her kind. Though she was amongst the younger of the sisters, Arthea had a special role in the hierarchy of her Order. She was the Invoker, the summoner of the goddesses. It was her duty to prepare everything for the ceremony, and, when the right time comes, to conjure a succubus in the realm of mortals. It was a ritual, that the nuns of the Chapel of the Nymphs of Beauty performed every hundred years. They gathered inside the sanctuary, praying for the wicked goddesses to bless and lead them. Afterwards, the actual Invoker stepped forward each time, and tried to bring a succubus to life, the beast feeding on the arousal of the townsfolk, and granting her followers decades of additional lifespan. The summoning wasn’t always granted, and failure was always a worry the chosen priestess had to calculate with. If the ceremony didn’t come to fruition, the Invoker was often accused and later on sacrificed for the mistresses…

Arthea was a special case. She wasn’t elected as an Invoker. She was raised as one. The girl was found one fateful night, crying in a basket left at the doorstep of the monastery with nothing at all. The poor thing wasn’t even covered with a blanket, even though she couldn’t be older than six months when this happened. Her parents were never found, yet she was quick to gain the nuns’ entire attention. Many thought her arrival was a cue of the goddesses, and during her entire life, she was suspected to possess succubus blood in her veins. The signals were clear: the fact her body remained warm even though she was all naked in the cold night. The purple eyes and fiery strands that became her signature marks. Her natural beauty, and the intense lavender scent that continuously surrounded her like an aura. Many of the sisters thought that she was a half-blood, but at the very least a descendant of the succubi. Therefore there was never a question about her being the one to be Invoker, the robe weighing down the priestess maybe even more now, that she her larger frame was restrained everywhere…