The Slave Goddess

Brought by the swineherd to the isolated mountainous hinterlands of his rural home province, Big Tits discovers that her reputation has preceded her in unexpected fashion. Among the mountain aboriginals, she is regarded as a fertility goddess in the flesh, a living deity cast down from the high heavens to serve the impoverished earthly tribes who long prayed for her blessing. Her arrival coincides with the first bountiful harvest in two generations-- an undeniable omen to the superstitious locals-- and her ivory white complexion, green eyes, fiery red locks, and ripely swollen udders are unearthly features that easily distinguish her from swarthy mortals. However, the aborigines are no fools, knowing well that only a disgraced goddess would be cast down from the heavens to being reincarnated as a slave among the lowly peasants. Thus, Big Tits is not to be installed in a lofty temple and clothed in rich holy vestments nor presented with offerings of the finest wines and fruits. Instead, the fat breasted slave goddess must be ordained by heaven to redeem herself by humbly serving her worshippers in a baser capacity until the Celestial Emperor recalls her to her rightful throne in the clouds above.

To this end, Big Tits is garbed in the simple straw loincloth, collar, and hat of a mountain hermit and forced to wander the province on an endless pilgrimage to the countless shrines, holy sites, and monasteries clinging to the lush mountaintops of the hinterlands. By night she climbs the lush green slopes, but by day, she stops alongside the dirt path and assumes a meditative stance, her carrying pole carefully balanced on her shoulders, a jug of her milk precariously swinging from each end. Eyes closed and mind drifting between sleep and consciousness in a state hovering at the edge of enlightenment, she awaits the arrival of the local villagers, who trickle in over the course of the day to visit the earthly incarnation of the fertility goddess. Beggars, peasants, farmers, butchers, laborers, peddlers, craftsmen, housewives, and children alike hike from the nearest village to her temporary resting spots high along the mountain path to seek her divine aid. Those who seek good fortune wait their turn to rub her swollen breasts for luck, whisper a prayer in her ear, and take a clipping of her hair for a lucky charm. Those who seek to know their fortune ask her to read their palms or tea leaves, and Big Tits hesitantly obliges by pointing to phrases carved on the bamboo fortune teller's cards dangling from her pole and adding a few reassuring words in the unfamiliar local dialect for good measure.

Most, however, come for a bowl of her divine milk. Word has quickly spread of the rich liquid sustenance that springs forth from her holy bosom and the purported healing powers it possesses. A mere teacup of her milk is reputed to fortify the health of even the sickliest infant or child, and suckling directly from the great white udders is said to ensure a child a long life of good health. As an ingredient in certain herbal potions, the milk of the fertility goddess is rumored to cure all manner of diseases and ailments, anything from a common fever to leprosy, according to the local apothecaries. In a carefully distilled preparation, the precious milk is even said to be a potent aphrodisiac capable of resolving even the worst case of impotence. Such is the reputation of the fertility goddess that a sprinkling of her milk is thought to make the most barren rice paddy, sow, or wife fertile for the coming year.

And although the local monks have denied furtively whispered rumors that intercourse with the fertility goddess will cure any venereal disease, there is no shortage of men making the pilgrimage to the living deity to penetrate her holy orifices in hopes of ridding themselves of their crabs or the clap. Unable to turn away any penitent who brings an offering, Big Tits has no choice but to take them all, whether they be toothless beggars, snot-nosed teenage brats, unwashed peddlers, or burly laborers.

In exchange for her various services, Big Tits is rewarded with only a pittance of gratitude from the impoverished pilgrims who trek long and far to see her. A few will toss a bronze or maybe even a silver coin into her alms bowl, but most can only present offerings in the form of a half-eaten sweet bun, piece of fruit, or strip of fish jerky. From the poorest and most penniless, Big Tits can only expect a swig of lukewarm water from a hollow gourd or at worst, a few empty words of thanks and a kindly pat on the rump. Many pilgrims, however, are considerate enough to at least reward her with the most welcome of offerings without prompting. As part of her heaven-ordained penance, Big Tits is forbidden to sinfully pleasure herself, so she must rely on the generosity of her worshipers to relieve the state of constant arousal she receives from the warm mountain breezes that penetrate the straw curtain of her loincloth and the countless fingers and infant mouths that tug, rub, and squeeze her breasts. With a plaintive whimper and a whine, Big Tits eagerly welcomes every mortal hand that tenderly strokes her clit and brings her to climax.

Through it all, Big Tits faithfully provides the divine services expected of her by the locals without undue hesitation or complaint, for the swineherd knows the secret of her mortal origins. Presented with the choice of remaining a slave-sow or being crowned a slave-goddess, Big Tits was allowed to choose the latter on the condition that she split half her collection money with the swineherd. If the faith of her pilgrims were ever to diminish or if she were ever to grow lax in her holy duties, there is no doubt that the swineherd would immediately reveal her as a fraud. The punishment for such a deception would be swift and pitiless, a fate far worse than death to be sure. Thus, Big Tits must lie in the bed that she has made, regardless of the unending litany of public humiliations to which she is subjected.

Nevertheless, she finds solace in the quiet solitude of the lush green mountains during her nocturnal treks through the veil of evening mist. Perhaps as reassuring, she is safe from the molestation of the local bandit gangs, who are fearful of wantonly raping and enslaving a living goddess, allowing her to travel through the mountain passes unimpeded and unaccompanied. And sometimes a weeping mother's tears of gratitude for a jug of milk for her hungry infant are enough to bring some warmth to the heart of a goddess.