More Than a Mouthful

by Frenulum

When Sage awoke, her first awareness was that she had been magicked.

It was a tiny, faint sensation, as if the air around the fine hairs on her arms were just a touch thicker than it should be, or perhaps as if a nearby cat were thinking about her. Most people would never be aware of such a feeling, but Sage had been in service to the wizard Meander for 112 years, and had grown acutely sensitive to all things magical.

The sixteen-year-old beauty lay still, keeping her eyes closed, while she thought about what Meander might have done this time. He often cast a spell her way first thing in the morning, much as an ordinary man might start his day with a cup of tea to brush off the cobwebs of sleep. It was never anything harmful, but there had been some decidedly odd ones. One time, about eighty years ago, he had switched her around to see sounds and hear colors — quite disorienting. And the weightlessness charm: that had been rather enjoyable, really, but doing her chores had proven nearly impossible. To be sure, one or two experiments over the years had gone awry, but never with any lasting ill effects.

In fact, Sage was quite happy in her rôle as servant and companion to the great wizard. Because he had taken her when she was an innocent maiden of sixteen, and disliked needless changes in his household, she was still a sixteen-year-old girl after more than a century in his service. Not many women can boast of that! She gave thanks to Meander daily for her smooth, youthful skin, her plentiful energy, her freedom from aches and kinks, and her lovely, slim, girlish figure.

There was, however, a single, minor drawback to her perpetual youth.

Meander had found her at sixteen, liked her at sixteen, and kept her at sixteen. Unfortunately, he had also found her a virgin, liked her that way, and kept her that way — not constantly, but repeatedly — so that by now she had suffered the sharp pang of defloration 129,891 times as Meander tore through her maidenhead over and over again. The pain was bearable and familiar, though, and Sage had long ago decided that it was a fair price to pay.

Sometimes, to be sure, she was sad to have outlived her family: her parents, her sisters Rosemary and Comfrey, and her brother Chive. But Rosemary, the youngest, was twenty-two years gone now, and Sage thought of her kin only occasionally, and with fondness rather than pain.

Her work itself was far from tedious. There were no tiresome chores such as building fires or ironing or scrubbing pots, things she dimly remembered disliking from her far-remote childhood. Meander had arranged for the cottage’s tame whirlwind to do the sweeping and dusting, and for the fire to keep itself fueled and burning, and so on. Those were quite simple spells: barely out of reach, in fact, of ordinary people.

Instead, Sage’s primary duty was to tend to Meander’s perpetual erection, a thick, heavy, throbbing, ten-inch column that sprang proudly from his ancient loins, a tree-trunk cock soaring over his prodigious plum-like balls. She had learned early that only four spells in the entire Panthaumicon do not take, as the activating ingredient, a dose of the wizard’s semen — and those four are pretty useless, with the possible exception of the Odd Sock Locator.

The serving girl’s exact job varied a bit from spell to spell. Sometimes she would suck Meander’s monumental cock until her mouth was filled, and then let the cum dribble slowly between her lips into his potion-bowl. Sometimes she would stroke him with her hand until he shot the magic elixir arcing into the mixture from a safe distance of several feet. From time to time she would squeeze her lovely breasts around his thrusting rod until he coated her face with creamy cum, so that he could lift a minuscule droplet from the tip of a single eyelash to flick into the bubbling brew.

And, of course, when there wasn’t any magic to be done, he’d just fuck her because he felt like it. A man who has had an unflagging erection for three hundred and ninety-two years has very definite ideas about how to relax, and Meander would pop Sage’s cherry as casually as another man might pour himself a beer.

(It is widely known among common people that all of a wizard’s magic comes from his staff. Over the passing centuries, however, this has somehow become badly muddled up, probably because wizards are always seen with robes and elaborately fashioned walking sticks. But the only thing the stick is good for is to give an old man’s back a bit of relief; while the robes are worn so that the wizard’s staff is not uncomfortably confined. Hardly anyone remembers these very simple facts, and consequently Sage’s first day of work had held one astonishment after another.)

Sage’s first task of every day never varied: before getting out of bed, she would break her fast by sucking on Meander’s mighty staff until his sperm erupted into her mouth. His ordinary effusions were voluminous enough, but the first one of the day would fill a teacup to the brim, and Sage rarely found herself at all peckish before lunch time.

On this particular morning, relinquishing sleepiness with a tiny sigh, Sage opened her eyes.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary: there was the single room of Meander’s cottage, large but nevertheless crowded. There was the pet whirlwind, busily coaxing a last speck of dust from the corner behind the book shelves. There was the potion-bowl on its five-legged stand, full of something that glowed faintly blue-green and hissed just a trifle. But as the fog of sleep cleared from Sage’s mind, she began to notice that something was not quite right. The perspective was wrong, or perhaps something wasn’t the size it ought to be, or perhaps Meander had tinkered with the very nature of distance (again).

Then she remembered her first impression of the day, the unique sensation of having been magicked. The spell’s object had been herself. Puzzled, she rolled over in the bed to face Meander. And instantly saw what had changed.

He was a giant. Or no, Sage quickly corrected herself, she was tiny, while Meander had remained unchanged. She sat up, and saw Meander’s grizzled face looking down at her, smiling, from a great distance away.

“Good morning, little one,” he said, his voice booming strangely in Sage’s tiny ears.

The servant girl scrambled to her feet in the middle of the bed. “Little one, is it?” she replied, glad that, at least to her own ears, she was speaking rather than squeaking.

“For a while, there’s no doubt of it, little one,” Meander chuckled. “Just a bit of a toy spell I wanted to try. I’m sure I’ll feel like changing you back... in a week or two.”

Sage stamped her foot on the mattress, which had absolutely no visible effect. “A week or two! I’ll, I’ll —” She glared at the wizard.

“Oh, just teasing, little one,” Meander reassured her. “Bear with me for a few moments only. Now why don’t you slip out of that gown and come to breakfast?”

Sage remembered her first morning duty, and looked down the nude body of the wizard to his tremendous erection. The practicalities of her predicament began to occur to her.

“How am I supposed to suck your cock, great wizard, when it’s every bit as big as I am?” she asked. She called Meander “great wizard” only when she was in a temper with him, as he well knew.

“Oh, but it’s not, it’s not,” he replied. “It’s a mere ten inches long, as you know, while you are a full foot tall!” He grinned at her as if this simple fact would solve all of her problems.

Sage glared at her employer, arms akimbo, as he lay waiting patiently for her to get busy. There really didn’t seem to be any way to suck him off — she might be taller than his cock was long, marginally, but her mouth was certainly far smaller than its head. Still, Sage was a spunky lass — not solely in the dietary sense — and was determined not to let Meander get the better of her.

Sighing, she peeled her nightgown up and over her head, tossing it onto the bed behind her. Her long auburn hair tumbled thickly back into place around her shoulders. And with a last sharp look at her boss, Sage turned and started walking down the bed. When she got as far as Meander’s ankle, she bent over, put her hands on his shin, and vaulted nimbly over it. Ahead of her lay the object of her morning mission, Meander’s over-full balls and his mighty, massive cock.

She walked up between his legs until she arrived at their juncture. Meander’s heavy balls hung before her, and Sage had a fleeting thought that what the wizard needed was a good swift kick in them from her tiny foot. However, the prospect of being spanked by a hand that was a dozen times bigger than her bottom held no particular attraction for the diminutive servant girl, and she let the urge pass.

Instead, Sage leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Meander’s erection, and climbed up his scrotum. The contents, being mobile, shifted a bit under her weight, and she nearly fell off once or twice, but eventually she managed to climb all the way up. She stood next to the shoulder-height cock with her arms encircling it, her bare feet tickled by the thick grey curls of Meander’s pubic hair.

“Time to get busy, little one,” Meander’s voice boomed from the head of the bed. “That potion won’t simmer forever.”

Sage worked her way around to the underside of Meander’s cock, where the sensitive ridge joined shaft and glans, crouched slightly, and began to lap him with broad strokes of her tiny tongue. The massive cock jumped and almost tore Sage’s grip loose as it pulled her off her feet.

When Meander settled down, Sage wrapped her legs around his erect cock as well, and got to work in earnest trying to please him. She let as much saliva as possible drizzle out of her mouth to run down the underside of Meander’s gargantuan penis, and once he was good and slick she began to frig him with her body, sliding the full length of her tiny torso up and down his cock shaft. Sage felt her nipples harden from being slickly rubbed, and wondered if Meander could feel the two protruding points as an extra sensation on his cock.

After several minutes of pole dancing and lapping, Sage stood up straight and, keeping her arms around the cock for safety, started a slow circle around it. She bent her head and trailed licks and kisses all over Meander’s purple glans, and her long thick hair swept across the newly wetted surface as she made her laving circuit.

When she had made the trip three times, she stopped and bent to cover Meander’s cum-hole with her open mouth, exploring it with her probing tongue. Sage heard a low rumble and realized that her master was moaning with delight. She permitted herself a quick grin of triumph before dipping her tongue back into Meander’s sensitive hole.

As she worked on the giant cock-head, Sage began to rub its corona with both hands and arms, knowing it to be a particularly sensitive area as well. She squirmed her body in a sinuous dance, pressing hard against Meander’s shaft, trying to use every muscle and every bit of skin she could bring into play to help get the powerful wizard off.

More spittle, more rubbing, more licks and laps and kisses, another wet circle, more teasing with her mane of soft hair — and more and deeper moans of pleasure from Meander.

Then at last, Sage’s questing tongue detected a new flavor, and her body a certain sticky slickness, and she looked at the center of Meander’s cock-head to see the first clear rivulets of semen beginning to ooze out.

“Would you like to cum now, great wizard?” Sage inquired coyly. She bent her head and began to lap up the flowing wetness eagerly.

“Yes, it’s time, little one,” the booming voice replied. “Finish me, now.”

Sage lapped furiously at the salty, sticky droplets, rubbing her body harder and faster against the trigger spot beneath the cock-head, and she worked her way back up to the center of Meander’s glans. He had really seemed to like it when she licked his cum-hole, so she covered it with her mouth again and slipped her dainty tongue inside, licking madly.

And she realized, at the very instant it was too late to react, what folly that was.

The first burst of Meander’s cum shot into Sage’s open mouth with the force of a fire hose, a jet of creamy spooge as big around as her wrist, firing straight upwards. The force of it lifted Sage’s face up and away from his cock just as the second pulse arrived. A fountain of cum launched into Sage’s startled, wide-eyed face and covered it instantly, filling her nose and her ears and her eyes and glazing her with sperm from chin to hairline and cheek to cheek.

Gasping for breath, her nose and mouth both cum-flooded, Sage had the presence of mind to straighten up a little and get her face out of the way of the erupting jizz. The third missile grazed her head, painting a bright white line straight across her auburn hair like a perfect part, and Sage shuddered with relief at the near miss.

Unfortunately for the sperm-drenched servant, gravity was still in effect that morning. The massive glob of semen flew past her into the air, arced over at its peak, and tumbled down in a creamy cascade to smack the unsuspecting Sage right in the back of her head. Cum filled her hair and ran down it, matting her long tresses to her naked back.

The force of the falling spooge was enough to tip Sage’s head forward again, exactly in time to catch the fourth powerful spurt right on the nose, and as her face received its second thorough coating the poor girl’s nose and mouth filled up again.

A great deal of semen was flowing down Meander’s cock shaft as well, and Sage’s body, still dancing against it, was slick with the gooey cream.

Over and over the wizard spurted, and the jets of cum that failed to splatter all over the face of the sputtering, choking, doll-sized girl on the way up, seemed amazingly likely to find her on the way down, coating her back and bottom and legs as surely as the runoff coated her breasts and her belly and her always-virgin pussy.

In time, even a powerful wizard’s first morning orgasm must come to an end, and in time — ages and ages, in Sage’s perception — it did.

She took half a step away from Meander’s stiff, upright erection. Scores of strands of semen stretched between the shaft and her body, hanging down in sparkling catenary curves, snapping as they grew heavy and falling to wet her even more. Sage’s cum-soaked hair lay plastered to her skin in tangles, and thick gobbets of goo slid slowly down her tresses like pearls in glycerin. Cum dripped in sheets from her face, foamed and bubbled at her nostrils, and ran into her eyes no matter how much she tried to wipe them clear.

She swallowed, swallowed again, a third time, and finally drew a gasping breath. Her chest heaved as she caught up on oxygen, and the long strings of cum that hung like jeweled pendants from her hard pink nipples did happy little dances in response.

She felt movement under her, and as she finally got one eye clear and partly open — the other felt glued shut — she felt Meander’s fingers circle her sperm-slick torso. He rose from the bed, lifting Sage into the air, simultaneously thrilling and terrifying her, and carried her over to the potion bowl.

The blue-green was deeper, and the hissing rather louder.

Meander stood right up to the bowl, with his erection projecting high above its surface. He carefully lowered Sage to the end of his cock shaft, and held her until her sticky feet were firmly planted on the curved rod and her balance was sure. Then he took his hand away.

“In you go now, little one,” he said. “Bath time!”

Sage took a careful step backward on Meander’s rigid cock. Then another, wary of losing her balance.

In four quick running steps she reached the head of his cock, jumped into the air, landed on the very tip, depressing Meander’s cock a bit, and used its return spring to launch herself into the air. With a graceful pike, Sage inverted herself at the top of her flight, and plunged without a splash into the potion.

The liquid turned pale blue as Sage bobbed back to the surface, treading... well, potion. Not a trace of cum lingered on her body or in her hair: the mixture had been quite ravenous for its final ingredient.

Meander lifted the tiny girl from the bowl, placed her gently on the floor, and watched with interest as she — quite quickly indeed, which he’d been a little unsure of — enlarged to her normal size.

“Did that hurt at all — the growing back up part?” he inquired, ever the scholar. His voice was back to normal, or rather Sage’s ears were.

“Not at all. I felt a little dizzy from everything shrinking around me, but that’s all,” she replied.

Meander took the naked sixteen-year-old by the hand, led her to their bed, arranged her on all fours right at the edge, and standing behind her spread her lips with his fingers and thrust his mighty scepter straight through Sage’s hymen: 129,892. She gave a little gasp of pain, as she always did, but soon settled into the familiar rhythm, fucking eagerly back at Meander as he enjoyed her body in one of his many favorite ways.

“What was...” Sage asked, having to pause at every vigorous thrust, “That potion... For?”

Meander was a little shy about it, but by policy he did not keep many secrets from his assistant. “It’s... To make a man’s... cock hard,” he replied. “Just one drop... and... boing!”

Startled, Sage pulled off the cock that had been so busily pistoning in her snug little cunt. She turned around on the bed and stared at Meander. “It’s certainly not for you!” she cried.

“Oh, no, no, no, not at all,” Meander assured her. He tipped her back onto the bed, spread her legs, settled himself on top, and plunged into her again, moving quickly so that her virginity would not have time to return. “I’ve been getting quite a few requests from the men in the village, though,” he explained, thrusting happily into Sage’s pretty pink pussy as her slender legs wrapped around him.

“It would seem,” Meander explained, as he stroked his cock into his beautiful teenage servant girl, “That every man wants to be a Wizard to his wife.”

Author’s notes on More Than a Mouthful

I myself have quite a cum fetish, enjoying facials, directed cum play, timed retention... well, you name it, pretty much. So it isn’t surprising that I have always wanted to write a story in which spooge played an extreme part. The trouble was always this: I don’t write M+/F scenes, and one man, no matter how far up the bell curve his output lies, can only do so much.

I started More Than a Mouthful in 2004, when it hit me that a little magic, a doll-sized girl, and a lot of suspended disbelief on your part, dear reader, would do the trick.

By the way, I happen to know four teenage girls named Sage. I find it rather an unusual name, so I don’t quite know how that happened. Was there a famous Sage in 1990 or so that put the name in parents’ minds?

Please take a few moments to comment on my story, using the e-mail link or the web form below. Thank you — comments are my only compensation.

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More Than a Mouthful

by Frenulum

Read more stories by Frenulum