NSFW_alt1234 May 25th, 2019 1,429 Never
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  1. (MILF, breasts, mouthplay, cuddling)
  3. It is expected that a couple's wedding day is the happiest day of their lives, but of course that is not always the case. Marquess Pierre, soon to be Duke Pierre, was not merely afraid of spending his whole life in a loveless relationship, but was afraid for his life. It had been a short three months since his father informed him of his betrothed, and not a day has gone by he has not dreaded it. Even now, especially now, at the altar, stood before his soon to be wife, poised to finally utter the words 'I do.'
  5. Pierre was from a tiny duchy, in the most literal sense of the word. The people there were freaks of nature, no taller than a normal human's ankle, more rodent than man - due to this they were basically irrelevant to the power games of the rest of the realm, left to their own devices, a sleepy hamlet of oddities. Imagine the shock of Duke Georges when, in the form of a tennis court-sized letter, Duchess Isabelle, the She-Wolf, requested to marry his son. Isabelle was infamous as a cold, calculating, conniving woman who was by all accounts a tyrant not above using her good looks lure men into her scheming. She had inherited her previous husband's lands and, as rumours would have it, murder him herself. What was he meant to do? His sweet, precious, youthful little prince, married to a carnivorous woman almost two decades his senior...
  7. Three months later Georges found himself in the audience, he and his court corralled into specially made seats, his son on top a precarious pillar waist-level with the comparatively gigantic woman. She was definitely beautiful: wide smile, brown hair, brown eyes, a soft, round face, and the hips of a goddess - he could see why she had such a reputation as a seductress. If nothing she was an intimidating presence, and not to mention she was dressed in enough silk and finery to bankrupt his whole duchy.
  9. "Do you, Duchess Isabelle, take this man to be your husband, in the eyes of Lord?"
  11. "I do," she said, with a very wide, toothy smile.
  13. "And do you, Marquess Pierre, take this woman to be your wife, in the eyes of the Lord?"
  15. There was an awkward silence in the chapel, tense, for none more so than Pierre himself. His hands were clammy, his knees were weak, if he fell he'd surely die, if he said 'I do' he'd be liable to spend the rest of his life in a cage as a pet, maybe fed to a snake or something; if he refused he could already imagine a swift death beneath her slipper. "I do," he said, not confident in the slightest, and barely loud enough for the officiant to hear.
  17. "You may now kiss the bride,"
  19. The chapel broke into applause as Isabelle leaned down, pecking the now Duke on the head. Georges was celebrating too, as earnestly as he could. "That young man is going to be eaten alive," he heard someone mutter behind him. And he couldn't help but agree.
  21. ---
  23. The wedding procession moved from the lavish chapel into the lavish grand hall, where intricately engineered seats and tables were set up to accommodate even the smallest guest. Isabelle sat at the head of the grandiose table, with her husband close by, sat in a little throne in front of her like a desk ornament, demure, obedient, more than a little high-strung. Food came out, bards, drinks, very soon it was a merry party. Exalted guests approached the couple, wishing them well for the future; Isabelle was tact and charismatic as always, certainly enough to compensate for her husband's terse responses. Pierre came to reason that if Isabelle really did plan to kill him, or whatever other plan she had to spring on him, it would be during the consummation, when they were alone. The young prince became increasingly nervous as the night, and the revelry, went on, as dread slowly seeped into everything he thought.
  25. "Are you okay, dear?" Isabelle asked, using a disarming pet-name for him already. "You've barely touched your meal."
  27. "I-I'm just... n-not too hungry."
  29. "Nervous?"
  31. He chose not to answer that.
  33. It felt like hours of sitting, talking, or rather letting his wife talk, and waiting as people danced and sang and became increasingly drunk, but it was finally winding down. Pierre's father approached, an assistant marching him over, the first person the boy actually wanted to see. They embraced, a little more somberly than for a wedding, "It'll be alright, my boy," was the only thing his father said.
  35. "Ladies and gentlemen, the couple shall now retire to their chambers," announced a crier, calling in servants and attendants to take them away. Pierre had never been so afraid in all his life.
  37. ---
  39. Isabelle's bed was enormous, even to regular humans - to Pierre, it made him feel positively microscopic. "I value my privacy," she told him on their way to the bedchambers. Some consummations have family watching, but the duchess made sure it would be only her and her husband tonight, free from prying eyes. Stripped down to his undergarments by a servant, Pierre was carried in and dropped on the bed with a bow, leaving him stranded on the soft red sea, every horizon a drop to the floor that would surely kill him. Why him? To think he considered himself lucky to be born a noble, how he longed to be anywhere but here.
  41. Boom. Boom. Boom. Ominous steps, sounds he had quickly become accustomed to so far out of his element. In his stomach he felt that the gigantic monster to which he was married approached.
  43. "Hello, dear," Isabelle said softly, peeking into the veil draped around the bed. She was wearing a big predatory grin, baring her teeth, licking her lips. With a great deal of creaking the giantess crawled on, climbing through the veil, a slow, alluring prowl. She too was wearing nothing but undergarments, teasing much of her shapely body, her full chest, her lovely hips, her endless smooth legs. Pierre was too afraid to be aroused, too intimidated, too in awe of her sheer size, her power, and how vulnerable he was. Isabelle, on all fours, stood over him, smiling, desperate, something malevolent in her eyes. He simply couldn't take it.
  45. "Please! Please! Just tell me what you want," he blurted out, the longest sentence he had managed tonight.
  47. Her grin, her evil face - gone. "What? What do you mean?"
  49. "What are you going to do with me? I just want to know. At least spare my father, I beg of you." His voice was cracking, he was squeaking like a mouse.
  51. "What do I want? I want to consummate our marriage. I want YOU."
  53. Pierre's haggard breathing improved just a bit, but his mind was still rushing. "B-but... you're... the 'She-Wolf'..."
  55. Isabelle sighed deeply, blowing a light breeze of wine over the young man. "Oh... dear..." She slumped over, falling onto the sea of red silk with a loud, powerful 'pomf'. "Are they still calling me that silly name? I guess that's the one that stuck. Being a ruler is all about appearances. Rumours can get far, regardless of their veracity."
  57. This didn't make sense to Pierre, she was THE She-Wolf, surely her father must know the truth... "So you're not... evil?"
  59. "No no no no no! I promise you, I'm a very good girl," she said with a fluttering of eyelashes.
  61. "B-but... then... why would you want to marry me?"
  63. The woman smiled again, a warm one. "Because, little one, I think you're absolutely adorable."
  65. "..."
  67. She offered a hand to him, welcoming him to climb on. He hesitated, but he was damn curious with where she was going with this. "About a year ago I was in the capitol for an audience with the king, and it just so happened your father was too. While there, I saw... you. It was only brief, not even a good look... but I was enamoured. So small, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand... A little prince all to myself... So seldom do we get to marry for love, and I've been a widow for so long..." Isabelle held her loose fist to her chest, giving him the closest thing to a hug that was reasonably possible. "I'm so sorry I scared you, darling, I promise you're safe with me."
  69. Pierre was stinging from emotional whiplash. He had been mind-numbingly afraid only moments ago, and now... now he was being called 'cute' and he was getting all blushy. "Thank you," he finally said, although he wasn't sure in regards to what.
  71. Isabelle flipped over, back on all four, gently setting her husband down before her. "You're welcome, dear husband... Well... we're not really husband and wife yet, are we?"
  73. No, they weren't. Pierre had calmed down, or at least he wasn't in imminent fear of his life, but he still had extra-tiny butterflies in his stomach.
  75. "It's okay, just relax," she said, picking up on his fear. "Just listen to me, follow my lead. Okay?"
  77. There was something alluring about her voice, a different character to it than before. She sounded so cold at dinner, careful, smiling only because she'd managed to get away with her scheme. But now her voice was so warm, a bounce to it, a soft coo. God... she was massive. He swallowed another mouthful of saliva as he gawked at her monolithic form, hovering above him, all that mass held up by two graceful arms. Pierre realised he'd become lost in thought, and slowly nodded to the gigantic woman.
  79. "Good. Start by taking off those clothes,"
  81. An easier instruction than he expected. Pierre disrobed, slowly, as it became clear Isabelle was doing the same, and she held most of his attention. In no time they were both nude, the mature woman's well-developed body absolutely dominated the young man's field of view, reclining like an island on the velvet sea. She radiated confidence, self-assurance, power; it must be easy when so large, he thought. As expected she was lovely - curvy in all the right places, it was not hard at all to imagine 'getting lost' in there.
  83. "Oh my... You really are handsome, Pierre."
  85. "Th-thank you, uhh... m-my love." He awkwardly tried to half-cover himself behind a fold in the blanket after that embarrassing attempt at being cute - Isabelle was still very much melting, on the inside.
  87. "Step on." An extended hand - order number two, which he obeyed. Isabelle held him tenderly, in her cupped palms, positioned right at chest-level, giving him quite the eyeful. "I want you to kiss me. Not like back there, in the chapel, I mean really kiss me. Just follow my lead, and do what feels natural, okay?"
  89. "O-okay, I can do that," he nodded.
  91. Isabelle held him up to her lips like she was taking a sip of him, letting him place his hands on either side of her smile, and lean in for a peck. The 'kiss' was more like Pierre burying his face into her plump lips and rubbing back and forth - not that it was unpleasant. Isabelle quickly became carried away, pressing her lips deeper against him. "Don't squirm," she said, remembering to whisper. In no time at all Pierre was held lovingly in her hand, his body being peppered all over with kisses that soon turned to licks, and, before he knew it, in the fog of her warm breath, his entire lower body was in her mouth being toyed with by her tongue like a candy. Less than an hour ago he wouldn't have been surprised to hear he'd end up in her mouth... but enjoying it so much? That would be a shock.
  93. "Ahh?" she said - not so much a word but a carefully inflected sound that meant, "Enjoying this?"
  95. "Hnnn," he replied, meaning, "God yes."
  97. Ah, such a cutie. Isabelle was well aware how fragile her husband was, how easy it would be to get him hurt. As much as she'd love to 'sink her teeth' into him, at least metaphorically, she was very careful to do nothing more than gently brush them against him. Sealing her lips, arming her tongue, and given one, last, long suck, she saw Pierre's heart stop for a moment, seemingly sucked out of him. A giant hand pulled him free, limp, a wind-up toy in need of, well, winding-up. "So, little one... I believe you're now a man."
  99. Pierre was feeling a little overwhelmed, but very satisfied. Tonight would be a learning experience for him, it seemed, and he was fortunate to have such a delightful teacher. He seemed tired after whetting her appetite, but she knew a young man like him would be filled with energy, and it'd only take a short while before he was recuperated. The noblewoman set him gingerly down between her breasts, which formed a perfect slot for him, almost like he was made for it. Pierre very much enjoyed how soft it was, not to mention how warm, and, to be frank, the fact that he was wedged between two giant tits was a big plus.
  101. "Ahh... I'd love to keep you here all the time," she began. "Close to my heart, nice and soft, feeling our hearts beating together." A tad sappy. "It'd be wonderful if I could just keep you tucked down my dress while I went about my day. I'd be able to just reach down and take you out to pet you whenever I wanted." Duchess Isabelle had a very careful eye open, peering down her nose, checking for any signs of arousal. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind, hmmm?" Just as carefully, she slowly began to fondle her chest, pressing them together just a little, playfully jostling him around. "Maybe have a necklace made to string you up in? Someone as cute as you deserves to be displayed." She was speeding up, and it was becoming hard for Pierre to ignore... So soft, so warm... he even faintly felt her heart. "And if you ever tire, there are many, many places someone your size would fit..." At this point she had dropped all pretext and had the young man swallowed up between her breasts, rubbing back and forth. The gigantic woman felt him stiffen against, he was nice and ready to finally do the deed.
  103. Isabelle sat up and let him fall, gently, of course. He slid along her belly until he tumbled off, landing right between two enormous, bulging thighs. Looking up at her, it was impossible to not feel at least a twinge of fear. From down here she was cast in a particularly intimidating angle; a soft, curvaceous mountain, but a mountain nonetheless. "You may be a man now," she began in a deep voice, reminding him how loud she could be, "But we're not yet truly wed." The shifting of her legs caused some rumbling; spreading them open, leaning back, exposing to the tiny duke her womanhood, which was clearly dripping with lust. Poor Pierre was clearly terrified, not quite shivering, but at the edge. "Relax, darling, just listen to me," she said, her fingers gently stroking her back. "Time for an anatomy lesson."
  105. She held her labia apart, and beckoned Pierre to stand, shooting him a squinted 'come hither' look. She pulled him closer, gently, walking up to the slit that was as tall as him. "Put it in." After a deep breath for courage, he pushed forward, hugging into the sensitive area, and sending shivers down her spine. A smile crept across her face as she gently reclined, "Hn~... Good... boy. Very good. Now put those adorable little hips to good use." Obediently, he did, thrusting back and forth. His blush was simply precious, a tiny red face peeking over her womanhood - her husband's first time. A silken red pillow crept up behind him and found its place tightly at his back. Her powerful thighs kept it close, and she effectively had a much better purchase on the delicate young prince snugly squeezed against her vulva.
  107. Pierre was feeling overwhelmed. Her enormous body radiated such an intense warmth, a whole aura surrounding her and entrapping him in. How could he think about anything but his wife? From this position so far below he could see every angle, every curve of her body; the underside of her breasts, the width of her hips, and of course he was engulfed in nothing but thigh. It seemed that at any moment he'd just be swallowed up, lost to her, consumed by the She-Wolf. But he could see her face peeking coyly from her cleavage, a smile, taut cheeks; maybe adoring, maybe encouraging, hard to read all together. Slowly, like a tree felled in reverse, she rose from the bed, moving her legs so she straddled the cute pillow, and had her husband pinned beneath. Beads of rosy sweat had slowly developed on her body, which all came slithering off like miniature rainstorm. Hunched over, breasts dangling, hands wrung into the bed sheets for support, Isabelle looked the biggest she ever had; like she deserved her own doodle on a map. The young prince marveled at her, at every detail, at every sparkle of light reflected from every contour on her shiny body. The entire weight of her gigantic form was bearing down on him, keeping him pinned to his velvet cushion, his life resting on her shoulders, or, more accurately, between her hips.
  109. Isabelle was gentle, even when taking control. Slow movements, tiny gyrations in the hips, nothing that'd scare him too much. Warmth spread out from her lower belly with each little shift her adorable husband made. She wanted badly to kiss him, his little face peeking from between her lips, but not even a duchess always gets her wish. "Mmmm... God... you're so cute," she sighed, half in a moan. He really was, she really was such a lucky woman. "Maybe... hah... you'd like to... hn~... spend your time here? Another cushion on the throne?" Each giggle made her shiver just a bit more, shaking little beads of sweat off her, quietly absorbed into the silk below. Isabelle felt something building, she knew it would be near. "Your mouth," she said.
  111. The young man, who had been too overwhelmed to do much but let her take over and treat him like a toy, was a little confused.
  113. "Use... your mouth..."
  115. Pierre, innocent as ever, but obedient, pushed forward just a little, chaotic in the bumpy ride, and just gently nibbled at her, which seemed to hit the spot. The moan she let out was almost like a roar. Her body tensed, fists tight on the bed sheets. But... he survived, no less worse for wear, except for maybe a little sticky. She dismounted and peeled off, collapsing on the huge bed with plenty of room to spare, panting in unison with her husband. She reached out her hand, her husband still stranded on the pillow, and held out her finger. Pierre wrapped his hand around it, in the closest thing to holding hands they could share.
  117. "If nothing else, husband, you're a good listener."
  119. ---
  121. Pierre and Isabelle embraced, him tucked just below her breasts, folded in her arms. Observant as ever, the doting duchess decided he was too tired to continue, and desperately needed some tender love. "I've already put artisans to work making you a proper little throne so I can keep you by my side, and the hundreds of other bits of furniture you'll need to be comfortable." Her voice while making small talk was gentle, not as deep and seductive as in bed, and not as sharp as when in public. This side of her, he realised, is one only he would get to see.
  123. "Keeping me around is probably more trouble than it's worth..."
  125. "Don't say that you. Not after how much I spent getting you here," she chuckled, squeezing him tighter ever so slightly. "Again, I'm so sorry I scared you, little one. To think I was actually going to kill you..."
  127. "It's fine, fine..." he yawned, finally, finally calmed totally. Perhaps, still in an afterglow, he felt peace, and the fact that Isabelle and he were wed had finally settled in nicely - it certainly helped that she was quite a comfortable woman to lay on... it remained to be seen whether she was serious about those comments on making him into a necklace... "Umm... c-could you maybe be a bit more... magnanimous while in public, please?... Just for my father's sake, at least?"
  129. "Hmm... well... I suppose I can do that. Look at me, I've already been tamed."
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