BHM The Marriage - by Taciturn Badger (SSBHM, FFA, Mild Intrigue, ~Sex)

[TaciturnBadger]

SSBHM, FFA, Mild Intrigue, ~Sex - An arranged marriage to a fat and gorgeous man is everything this bride could wish for.

The Marriage

by Taciturn Badger
​

[Author’s Note: This is a fairy-tale style dream I had the other night and just had to put to paper. Hope you enjoy it!]



It was February 17th, 1863 when I found out I was getting married.

I remember the day very clearly, since it also happened to coincide with my 18th birthday. While I had to admit I wasn’t surprised to discover my marriage – arranged marriages were very commonplace with the other young girls – I did have to admit to some surprise as to just how quickly my father had married me off.

Apparently, he’d been arranging this for quite some time, and was simply waiting until I was “of an appropriate age” to do so.

It took me another week to find out just who I was getting married to. I was sitting in our parlor, idly passing time away with a paintbrush and canvas when I overheard my mother and younger sisters in the next room.

“He’s quite rich,” my younger sister said. “Any girl would be lucky to be married to him.”

“And Walter MacDougall is quite charming to talk to. That’s a very good thing in a husband, to be able to talk. Your father did a very nice job with your sister’s wedding. Let’s hope he can do as well for you.”

Their voices started to trail off, as though they were walking further into the house. I did hear my sister before my ears failed me, though, saying “Let’s hope my husband isn’t quite so…”

Blast it! Quite so… what?

I had to know.

Immediately, I abandoned my painting – it wasn’t going so well, anyway – and spent twenty minutes getting myself presentable. It was never a difficult task, as I favored the more ‘natural’ look as opposed to spending hours to make oneself look like a moving China doll. Then, I set off for the first place to get any sort of accurate information.

The hairdresser’s.

No sooner had I walked into the salon was it before I was inundated with congratulations and well-wishes. It appeared as though the whole town knew I was getting married – and not just that I was getting married, but to whom and just who that person actually was.

I waited twenty minutes until the commotion had died down and the conversation focus wasn’t on me, then pulled my favorite dresser aside.

“Lanette! You must help me. I know I’m marrying Walter MacDougall, but I have no idea who he actually is!”

Her eyes widened in shock. “My word, Stephanie. You simply must pay more attention to business! Kept your head in your books and completely ignored what’s going on. Walter MacDougall is the millionaire owner of the W.M.D. Shipping & Freight Co. that runs over half the wharf.”

Wow. He was rich, then. “But who is he? What does he look like?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen him. I’ve heard rumors he’s a big guy, though.”

“What does that mean, big?”

“I don’t know! I’ve just heard rumors. Check with Isabelle over at the baker’s. Someone said a while back that she got to cater a tea party at his mansion, but I don’t know if that actually happened or not.”

I sighed. “Thanks!”



This was actually becoming quite infuriating. My head was filled with images of a tall, brawny man. At first, I pictured him young – perhaps mid-twenties – but quickly put that aside since he was running a massive shipping company. Perhaps late thirties?

I hurried over towards Isabelle’s bakery and teahouse as fast as could seem ladylike, bursting in with a huff and smiling when I saw her available.

“Congratulations, Stephanie MacDougall! When’s the ceremony?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I haven’t the faintest idea! Nor do I know anything of my future husband other than his name. I’ve heard you’ve been to his mansion, though. Have you seen him?”

She shook her head, and my spirits fell. “Only the back of his head and his shoulder through a crack in the door. It was some secretive freight meeting that only those invited were supposed to hear. I did get to walk around his estate, though. Truly massive and gorgeous landscaping.”

“Did he seem young?” I was desperate for any information I could get.

Isabelle’s face frowned slightly. “Sorry, but I don’t think so. His hair was grey, at least.” Her tone brightened, as if to give me some hope. “But some lads turn grey quite young! Remember Gregory Wallace? Head completely silver at thirty-five.”

Something told me that wasn’t the case, but at least I had a sliver of knowledge, which was better than I was a week ago. “Do you know anybody else who might know him? Even a little?”

“Well, I’d imagine the boys down at the wharf who work for him would. Might not get too close to the docks themselves, but it couldn’t hurt to check around some of the taverns in the more ‘civilized’ areas of town.”

“Thanks, Isabelle. It’s worth a shot!”



Later that evening, I set out for more information in the taverns. I had to admit to never being in a tavern before, so I was already somewhat cautious.

Loud. Crowded. Noisy. Filled with smoke.

I hated it already.

But I had to find out something about this Walter MacDougall.

Unsure of where to start, I caught the bartender’s attention.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone more implying that I truly needed assistance, and wasn’t placing an order.

“Do you know anybody in here who works for W.M.D. Shipping & Freight down on the docks?”

Rather than replying, he simply pointed to a group of rough-looking men over in the corner. I thanked him and walked over.

Before I could even get into a reasonable speaking distance, one of the men stood up and called out: “Oh-ho! Look at the pretty lady we gots here! Come ter have some fun, have ya?”

I didn’t like the tone one bit, but the need for information provided me with courage I wouldn’t otherwise have had.

“Which one of you knows Walter MacDougall?” I demanded.

One of the other dockworkers – not the lewd one standing – looked at my face quite carefully for a moment, then cried out.

“Paws off, Jackie! That’s the big man’s new wife you’re trying to grope.”

The tall one, Jackie apparently, opened his eyes wide and sat down quickly, stammering out an apology.

“So sorry, miss, dinnit mean nuthin’ by it.”

I turned to the one who apparently recognized me. “Have you seen him?”

He shook his head. “Never met ‘im personally, meself. Got an ol’ pitcher of him here on my work orders, though.”

He dug out a wrinkled sheaf of paper and handed it to me. On the top, right in the center of the letterhead, was a black-and-white penciled drawing of his face, apparently much younger. I burned the image into my brain, taking in every one of his features: rosy cheeks, a full dark beard prior to turning grey, strong forehead. I couldn’t tell if below the chin was supposed to be shadow or something else; it might have been a scarf.

“You can keep it, miss. Tha’s an old one, anyways.”

“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. My first real glimpse of my future husband! It was quite exciting.



At home, I laid in bed and looked at the drawing in the moonlight. The more I stared at it, the more I became enamored with his face. The eyes looked wise, yet friendly; the cheeks, while fuller than most of the lads I fawned over, were also creased with smile lines. I tried to imagine what the rest of his body looked like, and found myself unable to place him with any of the leaner bodies I liked; instead, his face and neck seemed to sit better on that of a more barrel-chested logworker. I fantasized about being wrapped up in the arms of a thick-chested man, and thought to myself that could be just as enticing as a lither man. I fell asleep wondering what it would be like to be kissed by bearded lips.



My second day of searching for information found me bolstered by the prior day’s success. Now I had a face portrait – albeit an older one – and simply had to finish the rest of it.

I headed straight for the wharf, ignoring a tingle on the back of my neck that told me to get away, and quickly. I rationalized the fear by what had happened in the bar last night; if even the dockworkers themselves recognized me, then there would (or should) be little danger.

A few questions and wrong turns finally found me face-to-face with a dock foreman, who finally had time to answer a few questions.

“I was wondering if you’ve ever met Walter MacDougall?” I asked.

He nodded, and I about jumped out of my skin. “Yup. Met ‘im once, ‘bout seven or eight years ago. Aren’t you the one gonna be his wife?”

“Yes. I’ve heard he’s a big man. What does that mean?”

The foreman scratched his head, obviously trying to answer the question without speaking ill of his boss. “Er, well, I’d say that describes him pretty good.”

I pointed to one of the dockworkers, an extremely well-muscled and shirtless man heaving large crates around as though they were nothing. “Big like him?”

“Might’ve been at one point, but not when I met ‘im. Mind you, that was a few years back. Could’ve changed since then, I dunno. Pick up stuff from his tailor for him e’rry now ‘n then, if you want to check with her.”

He pointed down a street and gave me a few directions, which I thanked him for and promptly dashed off towards. It took me a while to locate the place, since I did make a few wrong turns and got lost once or twice, but a while later I was standing in front of the building.

Ms. Dunham’s Tailors. For Royal & Regal-Sized Men.

Regal-sized men? What did that mean?

I stepped inside and was immediately greeted by someone whom I assume was Ms. Dunham herself.

“Oh, welcome, welcome! The new bride steps in, and oh, does she look marvelous! Mr. MacDougall did well to land a beauty such as you. I can’t wait to see you two side by side on the wedding day! Ah! If only I were young enough to catch his fancy!”

“Thank you,” I said, blushing slightly from the sincerity of her compliments. “I’ve heard he’s a wonderful man, but I’m having difficulty finding out who he actually is..” I trailed off, hoping that now my quest might have finally been over.

“Wonderful he is, and oh! So dreamy!” She fanned her palm over her chest. “I’m getting all warmed up just thinking about him.”

“I’ve heard he’s a big man..?” I left the question hanging again, hoping to keep Ms. Dunham talking.

“Oh, child, you have no idea. When he comes in to get measured, I just have to fight to keep myself from reaching up and touching it! You’ll do well in bed with him, don’t you worry. He’s the biggest down there I’ve ever seen in all my years of alterations.”

I was confused by what she meant by ‘down there’ and ‘in bed’. What did that have to do with anything? So I asked her.

“Oh my! I thought that’s what you meant.. oh, dear, there’s my dirty old mind wandering the streets in the gutter.” Her face turned crimson. “I hope you don’t tell him I said that! He might get embarrassed, although I wouldn’t know why. What did you mean, darling?”

Now I was utterly confused. “I meant, is he a big man? As opposed to a small and thin one?”

Ms. Dunham blinked at me like I was daft. “Well, he shops here, doesn’t he? Of course he’s a big man! That’s what a regal-sized man is. And completely breathtaking, at that. Haven’t you ever seen him before?”

I shook my head and showed her the picture from the dockworker’s orders. “This is all I’ve seen of him.”

“Oh, my, my, now isn’t that a charming old picture? No, deary, he looks ten times better now. Here, I have an idea. This is something of his I’ve been working on. He doesn’t know it’s done yet, so why don’t you give it to him personally? That should give you an idea of what you’re in for.”

I thanked her and dashed home, shutting the door to my room and dropped the package on my bed. It was in plain brown wrapping, tied only with twine, and labeled only with his initials.

I tore it open to reveal a mass of white cloth. I lifted it out of the wrapping, holding it up to see the entire thing. It was very large, almost big enough to be a small bedsheet; I turned it over several times to try and see what it was for. I wrapped it around me, and it went around more than twice – that couldn’t be it. I tried to wear it like a skirt, a shirt, a top, a coat, and nothing seemed to work.

I didn’t want to ask my sister or mother what it was, since I didn’t want to seem naïve and silly. Still, as I had found out that night, the wedding was tomorrow; I didn’t have much time to wait.

I folded it up and placed it back in the package, spending an hour staring at the drawing and imagining him even more handsome. I dreamt about my tall logworker – tonight with a large manhood – and fell asleep right after we made love in my dreams.



The next day was a complete whirlwind. The morning breezed by with my mother and sister spending hours putting my overly complicated dress on and getting me to the ceremony by coach. The ceremony itself was long, even though there wasn’t a large gathering, it felt as if I had to receive congratulations from a thousand people.

In addition to being long, it was ridiculously frustrating – the veil I had on left me seeing almost nothing other than my feet! I did, however, manage to hear Walter MacDougall’s rumbling baritone during the recitation of the vows, though. His voice was deep yet melodic, with just a hint of a gravelly undertone that made my knees week.

After we said “I do” to each other, he leaned in for the kiss – and I, in my frightened and nervous state – made the mistake of closing my eyes through the entire thing. His lips were warm and inviting, the beard smooth and soft, and his tongue just barely danced with mine. I had to concentrate to avoid falling on him, and by the time I realized it was over, my veil was falling down again.

Damn it!

Shortly afterwards, I was led elsewhere. Once outside of the wedding throng, I took the veil off and tried in vain to see him in the crowd.

“Here we are,” said a plump older woman with her hair in a bun, wearing a traditional maid’s uniform. “Let me know if you need anything. Mr. MacDougall should amble by shortly.”

“Excuse me,” I asked in a rush, trying to catch her before she turned and left. “I know this will sound silly, but I’ve never actually seen Mr. MacDougall.. what does he look like?”

The maid laughed to herself. “I expect that veil had to be pretty thick for you not to see him. No matter, you’ll see him soon enough.” And with that, she turned and left.

I opened the wide wooden double-doors and entered what had to be his bedroom. The bed itself was massive, easily the largest I had ever seen, even bigger than the king-sized ones I had seen in the mattress stores. I was in awe, and flopped down on it almost immediately, completely disregarding the expensive dress I wore. It was soft, with plenty of support hidden underneath the layers of cushion. I spread out, one hand touching one side of the bed, and the other still a yard away from the other edge – wonderful! Plenty of room to roll around and toss about without being disturbed.

I got up and looked around, noticing the equally-wide door to the bathroom. Two sinks lined one wall, and the other was taken up by an enormous bathtub – the same size, it looked, as the ones in the public baths. I remember seeing four or five people in those with room to spare.

I found the closets, but before my curiosity about his wardrobe could take over, I spotted what had to be my closet. It was filled with expensive designer dresses, all of which were in exactly my size. It had to have taken a fortune – and months! – to acquire all of them, and reminded me just how long my father had been working on this marriage. It had to work; but judging from what everyone had said (and his absolutely gorgeous voice and knee-quaking kiss) it wouldn’t be that hard.

More so than the dresses, what caught my eye was an expensive silk robe. Silk felt amazing against the skin, making simple motions feel almost sinful and erotic in nature. I got out of the wedding gown as quickly as I could, slipping the robe off the hanger and feeling its almost weightless fabric against me. Just the mere act of putting it on, feeling it glide across my breasts and thighs was breathtaking.

I returned to the bed, guessing that “my side” was on the left by the nightstand empty but for a single red rose. I crawled back into it, letting the stress of the day bleed away and feeling the material drift across me.

I must have fallen asleep, for I woke with a start when I heard the large doors to the room close. It was dimmer outside, creating an almost sunset-like effect through the stained glass windows of the room with the changing sun.

“Ahh, finally, some time alone with my beautiful bride.”

Oh, how that voice made me melt!

I raised myself up on my elbows and looked, eager to finally see my husband. When my eyes fell upon him, my breath caught, and suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place.

Before me stood a man who was, bar none, the heaviest man I had ever seen. I remembered my father’s accountant, who was over three hundred and fifty pounds himself, and my fascination with him as a child; how his body moved, the quivering of his double-chin when he spoke, and more than anything, the size of his belly.

Walter MacDougall, on the other hand, must have had at least a hundred and fifty pounds on my father’s accountant.

He stood, cobalt blue eyes twinkling beneath grey brows. He was watching me watching him, placing a hand on his belly and straightening out the watch chain draping over the slope of his stomach. It took me time to take all of him in; the breadth of his chest, the outward curve of his paunch, the subtle roll at his side where the love handles started, draping downward with his belly to stop just above his knees. Dressed in clothing skillfully designed to mask his size, I wondered what he looked like nude.

“You seem surprised,” he mused. “Your father said it might take a moment.”

I shook my head, amazed at my own rudeness. “I’m so sorry,” I said, blushing. “It’s just until now, I’ve never seen you other than an old line drawing on your letterhead.”

He chuckled, making his massive belly bounce and quiver. “I try to keep out of the public spotlight.” Much to my delight, he began to undress.

“Your father told me that at a young age, you were infatuated with his accountant, who was a large man. Yet when you began to discuss the opposite sex with other girls, you swayed your opinion towards the public norm. When I started discussing my search for a wife, he figured – after much deliberation and careful research on his own part – that you and I might find some common ground.”

I flushed, and realized that my father’s thinking was perfectly correct. I remembered now, the accountant coming back to the house after years, and my making a point of it to be in the room the entire time, regardless of my lack of interest in what was taking place. Cleverly played, I had to admit.

Walter had finally undone the final button on his shirt, and his upper body was revealed for my sight. His chest was wide and soft, two large breasts that sloped under his thickened arms and forced him to keep them outwards at an angle, having the effect of making him seem even larger. His belly was smooth, free of any stretch marks or blemishes. I watched in further fascination as he dropped his slacks to his ankles, revealing the rest of his gorgeously enormous stomach, which actually drooped somewhat further onto his knees once freed of the support from his pants.

I didn’t see his thighs until he turned slightly to step out of his slacks, and just as the rest of him, they were full and fat as well, with one gentle roll just above his knees, and an adorable dimple on the back of them. I found myself breathing faster, my heart racing, my mouth dry. I leaned forward, as though it would bring me that much closer to his gloriously enormous body.

A moment later, he crawled into the bed, and I had to stifle a moan as he crawled hands-and-knees closer to me, his belly dragging on the covers and his breasts hanging almost to his elbows.

“Was your father wrong?” he breathed into my ear, the scent of his cologne wafting into my nose.

“No,” I whispered back, and he traced an overstuffed sausage of a finger along my collarbone, slipping my robe off one side.

But oh, this was heavenly!

“Making love can be somewhat different with a man of my size,” he said. “Follow my lead, and it won’t be difficult.”

With a few gentle directions and words, he guided me to the edge of the bed, face down, with my rear end high in the air. It was an odd position, and very vulnerable; but from what I had heard, what lovemaking position isn’t?

I felt him maneuver behind me, standing on the floor. “This may feel somewhat awkward at first,” he warned me, and then I felt a heavy weight on my back and posterior. I glanced over my shoulder and saw it was the enormity of his stomach, his entire belly on my back and smothering it completely. Wrapped in his fat, I felt myself quiver, and not from the weight. My womanhood moistened instantly, a feat no other man had been able to accomplish.

And then, I felt him entering me. I clenched my teeth and braced myself for the burst of pain that I had been told about; when it came, I was ready, and soothed by his gentle words that it would be over soon, and soon it would feel amazing.

Ms. Dunham was right – as enormous as he was outside, his manhood felt that much larger. I felt him inside me, filling me completely, and yet he kept moving in deeper, and deeper. The man I had made love to in my dreams was thrown completely out the window, as this amazing walrus of a man was enveloping me both inside and out.

After what seemed an eternity, he was completely inside me. I felt his soft thighs pressing hard against my firm buttocks, my ankles wrapped around his pillowy knees. And if it didn’t feel mind-bogglingly enough yet, he began to thrust. Slowly at first, I felt him pull out of me, then back in, his girth tight against my virginity. What little discomfort remained vanished into ecstasy as he sped up, the muffled sound of his thighs slapping against me reaching my ears between my own moans. His grunts and groans mingled with mine, creating a verbal dance of what exotic pleasures were filling my every fiber of being with. I decided then and there that this big man – both in girth standing and in girth inside me – would be very easy to get along with.

I don’t know how long I was crouched with the hundreds of pounds of his awe-inspiring belly laying on me while he drove his awe-inspiring manhood into me, so entranced was I with the orgasmic ecstasy of the act. My mind was a field of stars, every cell screaming in pleasure. Finally, he thrust one final time, and I felt his climax, a volcanic eruption of heat that clenched repeatedly. Feeling his culmination, I felt myself tighten around him even further, panting into the bedsheets.

We stayed for several moments like that, both our chests heaving and recovering from the act. I felt him soften inside me, and eventually he stepped back, removing himself and heading into the bathroom.

I found myself following him, though walking was slightly awkward as my knees and legs didn’t want to seem to work properly. I watched him clean himself with a wet rag, wiping off his manhood and the underside of his belly. He smiled at me, and I felt my heart melting again.

“I’ve only just met you and you’ve already gotten me weak in the knees,” I said between breaths.

He smiled and pulled me against his soft front. “When you like fat men,” he began, “getting the fattest one in town, who also happens to be rich, isn’t a bad start.”

And then he kissed me. Had he not been holding me, I would have fallen.

I think this marriage might work out after all.

 

[TaciturnBadger]

 

[fatmac]

 

[Risible]

 

[The Cookie Faerie]

 

[persimmon]

 

[MapleMist]

 

[fat hiker]