“Ring the great bell and gather all our friends here. Summon our guests, the kitchen staff, the sports instructors, the chambermaids, the linen maids, Fred, the cook … They should all be allowed to see this wondrous freak of nature. Then you’ll serve champagne. I want a celebration worthy of our friend’s introduction to our club. In the meantime, I’ll try and get in touch with our giantess.”
Although she had closed her door to the obese woman in the past, Ghislaine, shrewd manager that she was, could see the advantage in setting up these two exceptional specimens together. It would inject more diversity into her tribe, as well as show that each and every individual was welcome in her home, no matter how large or anomalous he or she was.
A crowd soon gathered in her office, like at some carnival freak show, anxious to come and see the sneering little man brandishing his extraordinary proboscis. People came from every corner of the estate to witness this one-of-a-kind phenomenon, as Monsieur Tronchet lit a cigarillo and smoked through the commotion with an amused look on his face; his rod was even thicker and longer now that so many eyes were on it. He turned to Ghislaine and said, “So, do you think mine is the right tool for the job?”
A female voice was heard, “Are we allowed to touch it?”
“Jerk it?” asked a second.
“Suck it?” inquired yet another.
“No, my dear ladies, there will be no touching! First-time privileges are reserved to our ‘little daisy,’ Pâquerette. You may explore this promising phallus later—if you manage to arouse its owner.”
Admiring cries and gasps of disbelief sounded off from all sides; not to mention jealous griping from those who up until then fancied themselves the most well hung among the club members. Their reputations had just taken a serious blow.
“It’s got to be some sort of trick! It’s just not possible! It’s a prosthetic or something!” one of the club stallions complained. He was endowed with a magnificent prick, but it suddenly seemed trivial by comparison.
“Oh, it’s a fancy trick all right!” Mimi laughed. “Poor Eric, I’d hide that little thing of yours if I were you! Next to him, you look like a twelve-year-old!”
The Château des Plaisirs was positively abuzz. After many generous helpings of champagne, the news that the marquise had managed to get in touch with Sylvie the whale (“She’s already on her way and she’ll be here in less than an hour!”) were cheered like a national victory.
Ghislaine advised Monsieur Tronchet on the choice of a room for his first encounter with his ‘fiancée’—as per the house custom of referring to first-time partners as ‘fiancés.’ What the officer of the court did not know, however, was that the room recommended by the marquise was, like most in the mansion, fitted with peepholes and hidden cameras.
When she spied Sylvie’s imposing figure cautiously climbing out from her SUV, the marquise shooed away the handful of regulars still lingering in her office. She bid Monsieur Tronchet wait in the Chambre des Fiancés, and to put his trunk back in his pants—there was no need to frighten the lady right off the bat.
“Put your bald eagle back in its nest, Monsieur Tronchet. Yes, yes, you’ve made your little impression and you’ll certainly cause many sleepless nights among my guests, but believe me there is no need to scare off your respectable companion by appearing too hasty. Show some elegance, my good man, some nuance! Trust my experience: Take your time before unleashing that monster of yours. A little restraint, a little moderation, dear God!”
Still basking in the admiration of his erstwhile audience, the officer now wore a sly, somewhat bawdy grin. This amused the marquise greatly.
Mimi announced Sylvie’s entrance with a few of her usual antics, aping her enormous backside as she followed her to the marquise’s desk.
Ghislaine rushed to her guest with exaggerated cheer.
“I am so delighted to see you again my dear Sylvie—I mean Pâquerette! I believe you prefer to be called by your nickname. Do you mind if I use it here, in the privacy of our club? I am so happy! I just knew I would end up finding you the perfect match!”
“Right now, I’m mostly interested in finding the perfect lay!” simpered the romantic heavyweight with a cavalier slap on her gigantic buttocks.
Ghislaine amiably attempted wrapping an arm around her shoulders and spoke into her ear.
“He doesn’t look like much at first, but once you see inside his pants … my God!” she said with a sigh.
Both women cooed, and Sylvie blushed like an ingenue as Ghislaine made other lewd comments.
“I’m sorry but I’m afraid I’m going to scare this man away like so many others. You almost make him sound like an underfed, puny little man. … Surely, all my monstrous flesh will annihilate any trace of desire in him. …”
“Now, now, I can assure you, Monsieur Tronchet will soon be quite inflamed by your … silhouette. He is a man of fine tastes who simply adores real curves. Come, come, let me introduce you.”
Ghislaine led Pâquerette by the hand and ended up having to shove her four hundred plus pounds into the room where the Monster lay waiting before slipping away. At the enormous woman’s entrance, Henri Tronchet jumped to his feet and raised the visitor’s plump hand to his lips, bowing and clicking his heels.
“Madame, I am your humble servant.”
Although charmed by these gentlemanly manners, Sylvie was examining her ‘fiancé’ from head to toe with a rising sense of dread. She could not believe this man had anything that could live up to her expectations. I want to be screwed by a real beast, not by a shrimp, she thought as she took the seat offered by this peculiar little man.
He could read the surprise, and possibly the disappointment, on her face.
“I like you enormously, madame. You remind me of a Fernando Botero statue.”
“You are too kind, monsieur. Are you especially fond of shapely women?”
“I adore them. Only they—only you—can adapt to the constraints imposed by my constitution.”
“But, monsieur, what do you mean? You don’t seem to have the stature of a circus strongman,” she said, biting her lip at how brazen she sounded.
“That, madame, is for you to judge. If you don’t mind …”
He laid a hand on his fly and began to unbutton it, but this task was proving somewhat difficult. His pants were, by now, much too tight and narrow to contain the object of Sylvie’s deepest desires (if such a description could be applied to the thing lurking between the legs of this strange individual).
Sylvie drew back ever so slightly, as though she were shocked by this initiative—but her heart was palpitating with excitement, and her entire body felt an overwhelming curiosity that was already making her wet.
Monsieur Tronchet gave his mighty prey a questioning look.
“I would rather err on the side of caution and avoid passing for a cad. So … would you like to repeat after me this rather simple phrase: Dear Henri, would you be so kind as to show me your third membrum inferius?”
Sylvie was stunned. Never in her life had she ever asked a man to show her his penis, let alone one who referred to his organ as a third leg … in Latin, no less. Even with her childhood playmates, she had never partaken in the widespread custom of show-me-yours-and-I’ll-show-you-mine—not that the boys had ever asked for her opinion on the matter, delighting in flashing their juvenile erections at her. So the prospect of asking this of a stranger, of mentioning his membrum inferius … that was too strange for words. Her confusion did not last long, however, as she soon heard herself repeating the magic words, staring at the this man’s swelling crotch: “Dear Henri, would you be so kind as to show me your third membrum inferius?”
“Is that what you desire, O callipygian goddess? If so, repeat after me: ‘Yes, yes, that is what I desire the most, Hippolyte! I am on my knees, begging you: Show it to me!’”
She repeated again, asking herself why she suddenly needed to call him Hippolyte instead of Henri, but her desire was now so strong th
at she did not give it too much thought.
And so the colossal rod sprung from the little man’s pants as he smiled proudly.
Pâquerette let out a cry of surprise and stood, staring, fascinated by these titanic proportions.
“I … I have never … never seen such anything like it. You are simply phenomenal, my dear. The marquise didn’t lie to me. What a weapon, what a sword! Oh but you will surely cleave me in two with your gladius!”
Monsieur Tronchet had to fight a strong urge to laugh as she waxed lyrical. He focused on his stronger urge to see her naked.
He led her to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress as he undertook the task of undressing her, punctuating each gesture with short, admiring grunts. He carefully, almost ceremoniously, undid the buttons of her blouse.
“And what will we find behind this veil?”
He made her turn around and busied himself with the feat of engineering that was her bra until her bountiful bosom appeared.
“Oh but these breasts are beyond my wildest dreams!” He exclaimed, rubbing his hands excitedly before burying his face between these two formidable barrels.
“Do you find them to your liking? You’re not lying, Monsieur Hippolyte?”
“To my liking? Just watch. …”
And he showed her his cock, which stood upright with even more arrogance than during its public exhibition in the marquise’s office.
“Look, madame—I mean Pâquerette—look: You’re turning me into a stallion. And we’re just getting started!”
She giggled. He freed Sylvie from her skirt and kneeled before her, his face level with her pubis. He laid his cheek on her lower stomach, eyes closed, sensing her quivering sex under her white cotton panties. He reached for the undergarment on each side and slowly pulled it down past her ankles. Hippolyte raised the fleshy folds of her stomach to better see what he was dealing with. Her pudgy mons pubis was plump and rounded.
“What a mound you have! What a cozy, plush mound! I could just eat you up right here and now!”
The giantess, who had begun to shake like a leaf, spread her legs to better show herself to this stranger so fascinated by the rolling hills of her panoramic body. Without any further ado, her companion stuck two fingers into her gaping sex; they came out covered in thick sap. At the same time, he discovered a clitoris the size of a small pickle.
“Would you look at that proud rascal, holding its head up like this!”
He pressed it between his lips before sucking on it and giving it small licks of his tongue.
“Really, what a pretty acorn we have!” He said, letting go of his prey a moment.
The goliath hid her face in her hands. “I’m embarrassed, so embarrassed!” she lied as she watched her lover’s head disappear once more behind the crest of her stomach.
Her cries and moans were making him unbearably hard. He jumped to his feet and, with unimaginable energy, tipped her facedown onto the bed to admire her monumental posterior.
“I have seen, and loved, many an enormous ass in my life … but never one so heavy and strong as yours! Allow me to congratulate it in my own way.”
“By all means, go ahead! It is all yours!” she crooned, clenching and unclenching her buttocks.
Standing above her, the officer of the court began to slap this magnificent caboose with his cock, using it as a riding crop.
“He’s spanking me with his rod! Is this really happening?” Pâquerette exclaimed. “I've never seen this before! He’s hitting me with his switch! What a man, oh, what a man!”
The wielder of wonder kneeled behind her, pleased to see her raising her rump as high as she could to invite him in. He grabbed her ankles and spread them apart. Her voluptuous pussy gaped in desire, under a small, tight ring lost between the folds of her flesh.
“Magnificent, you are simply magnificent. You are everything I could wish for. How I prefer your dazzling curves to those supermodels and their shapeless bodies! I love your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, and your queenly bearing. I am going to make you come, dear Sylvie. …”
She was already under his spell. She almost could have cried.
“I’m already coming, Hippolyte!”
“No, what you are is wet. But …”
And he suddenly, savagely forced himself into her, pulling her hair. The giantess cried out, first in pain, then in joy of being taken with such fervor. Behind her, the officer of the court groaned, growled, and roared, riding his colossal mare, delighting in seeing her buttocks bouncing in all directions.
While the impossibly endowed pipsqueak indulged in his wild ride on his flabbergasted adipose goddess, a pair of eyes spied on them through a peephole in the wall.
It was one of the rules the lady of the house had set herself: She had to attend a new client’s first tryst under her roof, incognito. It was her way of making sure all was well, and this time she felt all the more justified since this was a first pas de deux for both partners—a rare occurrence.
As per usual, Mimi took part in the festivities by pleasuring Madame la Marquise. At that precise moment, she was crouched behind her mistress who, her eye glued to the peephole, missed nothing of the scene next door. The young maid loved to lap up her marquise and take her to cloud nine. She had removed the lady’s silk slip in order to see the majestic, round, and muscled backside that so little resembled Sylvie’s.
Mimi admired her mistress’s ass with passion—its beautiful globes, the furrow that split it where tiny droplets of sweat shone. Feeling a quiver of happiness spread through this beloved behind, she set herself to licking studiously.
“Take care of my pussy now,” Ghislaine commanded in a husky tone.
Mimi slid herself between the marquise and the wall, and carefully pushed back the hairs above her beautiful, glowing pussy, feeling for its lips with her tongue, before planting a passionate kiss on her clitoris as it hardened with pleasure.
The marquise shook with a first orgasm. A noise that was almost a snarl escaped her throat as she held on to her lover’s neck, pressing her against her sex. Her sap dripped down to her thighs where Mimi lapped it, softly moaning with pleasure at having Ghislaine in such a state. The latter, panting, gave her an order in a hushed voice: “Get me Monsieur D, Mimi, now! Strap it on and give it to me, give it to me hard!”
That was all the young lady had been waiting for. She jumped to her feet and grabbed her harness, humming to herself—she loved playing the man and mounting her mistress. Mimi strapped the substitute cock to her waist and skipped to her gasping mistress, swinging the cartoonish phallus in front of her.
The marquise spread her legs even farther, bent her knees, and arched her back toward the servant girl. She was already shivering with apprehension and joy. As soon as she felt the artificial tip nudging curiously at her vulva, she groped for it blindly and pretended to stroke it.
Ghislaine then felt a peculiar sensation. Through her peephole, she avidly followed the spectacle unfolding in the next room. She could see Sylvie seize the beast and, now on all fours, guide it toward her sex with small gasps of trepidation. This made Ghislaine melt. She caught Mimi’s mock manhood and pushed it inside of her, moaning. The girl, holding the chatelaine by the hips, began to thrust harder and harder as the dildo penetrated this hungry pussy.
Both women were bisexual but found different pleasures in being with a man or with a woman. They enjoyed a kind of familiarity with the so-called fairer sex and relished their partner’s innate skill when it came to knowing what they wanted and where they wanted it. Their approach tended to be somewhat different with a man—and depended, of course, on the partner. Thus, the marquise would sometimes pretend to surrender herself body and soul to one who fancied himself her lord and master; with another, she would demand perfect obedience and dictated positions and rhythm, as well as how gentle or brutal the embrace.
As for Mimi, she did not reflect on the metaphysical aspects of her dual penchant. She loved to feel a nice hard cock fill
ing her pussy or her ass—but she was also delighted to lick and lick and lick a friend’s snatch, to savor its juice like nectar. What she loved the most, however, was to have a man and a woman take care of her at the same time. Nothing made her happier than having a big, hard cock stuck deep inside of her while she sucked on lips both minor and major that quivered under her kisses. If by chance a third partner could nibble on her breasts and kiss her mouth, Mimi became the happiest of lovers.
It had been more than four years since the life of this young chambermaid had begun its journey through sex in all its forms—since a car had stopped for her on that stormy afternoon of hitchhiking. She was thoroughly drenched, but the driver had smiled, saying she didn’t care one bit about her seat getting wet. The girl had almost immediately taken to calling her “Madame la Marquise,” and the marquise had been so considerate and thoughtful that the eighteen-year-old had confided in her. She told her good Samaritan she had just escaped from a squalid hovel where a violent drunkard of a man held her against her will, having practically kidnapped her at a dance hall where she had grown intoxicated by dance and drink alike.
Ghislaine had taken her to the Château des Plaisirs. Under a hot shower, she had seen the beauty of this new recruit as she washed her, although she refrained from taking the discovery of this young body any further. It did not take long for her to become Mimi’s mistress, however, and to begin to teach her everything she knew about love, both in theory and practice. And she did know quite a bit. …
Nowadays, Mimi played a variety of roles within the Château des Plaisirs community. She was an instructor to the newcomers and an enthusiastic partner to the regulars, as well as an energetic and devoted participant to group lovemaking. She had different nicknames: Mademoiselle Hoover, Mademoiselle Cunning Linguist, or even the Bareback Rider, for her prowess at screwing on horseback without a saddle or stirrups. She was beloved for her love of pleasure, but also because she was cheerful and kind to a fault. For the time being, she satisfied the marquise, and to her, that was fulfillment enough.
The Merry Widow Page 3
