Peter felt his little heart rate increase as Fran spoke her intimidating words. The truth was, he had no idea whatsoever for a game.  

“So what’s it gonna be?” boomed Fran, standing over him, folding her big arms across her colossal breasts. “What’s the game, little pipsqueak?” 

“Uh…I…uh…” stammered Peter. High up above him, he saw a smug smile spread across Fran’s face. There was no escaping it — she knew that his “game” ploy was nothing more than an obvious and pathetic attempt at stalling. She thought about shoving him straight into her pussy right then and there. But she took a deep breath — she’d let this play out. She’d make it fun.  

“How about two truths and a lie?” she suggested helpfully. “How does that sound to you, little guy? If you’re so keen on playing games, that’s a fun one.” 

“O-ok,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “T-two truths and a lie.”  

“What a lovely suggestion!” said Fran brightly, pretending that it had been his suggestion all along. “I love that game!” She snickered down at him; she expected the game to be quick. They stayed there as the game began, with Peter standing on the dresser, still in the latex tubing, right next to Fran’s cum-covered dildo. He could not avoid periodically looking up at her huge, bushy snatch. He was terrified at the idea of being raped by this monstrous furry cunt. He had to take a series of deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating — there was no question: he had to win.  

“Ok, you first!” she said.  

“Uh…ok…uh…I just graduated high school, blond is my natural hair color, and…and I…I had a threesome once.” 

Fran scoffed down at him as she put her hands on her hips. “Oh please!” she said, “it’s so obvious that you’re lying about having a threesome — you just told me a little while ago that you’ve never even had sex. Booorrrinnggg! Ok, now me…” She paused and pondered. Then she looked down at him deviously.  

“Ok, how about this — I prefer men who are around 7 inches tall, my favorite drink is a tequila sunrise, and I weigh over 400 pounds.”  

Her eyes sparkled darkly down at Peter. She thought that she had him with this one. Peter looked up at her uneasily…he knew at least one of these was true for sure — there was no question that she preferred guys who were 7 inches tall…his height. He wasn’t sure about her favorite drink…but as he looked up and down her body, he was pretty sure that Fran was telling the truth when she said that she weighed over 400 pounds. She was so tall already, and that fact combined with her incredibly thick figure, complete with her titanic ass, enormous, undulating hips, and fat pendulous boobs…well, as he looked at her, Peter didn’t have any doubt in his mind that she weighed that much. She must have been lying about her favorite drink.  

“Uh…y-you’re…you’re lying about y-your favorite drink,” he said.  

“Damn!” cursed Fran, looking down on him severely. “I thought you’d at least be a gentleman and not imply out loud that you think I weigh over 400 pounds.” 

“I’m…I’m sorry!” he pleaded up at her.  

“Never mind…just, just go again, will you?” she snapped. 

“O-ok…ummm…uh…I l-like watching sports…uh…m-my favorite sport is s-soccer and…and I, uh…I almost failed out of high school.” 

Fran was getting more and more frustrated with Peter’s lackluster commitment to this game. After all — it was his idea to play it, anyway! His truths and lies were all boring and completely predictable.  

“What kind of truth-lie combination is that!?” she thundered down at him. “Come on Peter — I know you were a good student in high school — that’s a blatant lie!” She suddenly reached down and grabbed him, bringing him right within an inch of her flushed face. 

“You know, little guy, you’re venturing into dangerous territory here. I’m gonna fuck you that much harder for your first time if you continue making me wait!”  

Her vociferous words frightened Peter to his core — she spoke so severely to him that she left spittle on his terrified face in the process. She eyed him intensely as she spouted off her next round of truths-lies:  

“I enjoy anal sex, my poor little hubby died in a sex accident with me, and my name is short for “Francesca.””  

Peter knew the answer, but at this point he had stirred up Fran so much that he was actually afraid to win. She was so much bigger than him, and she had him trapped – his arms and legs were held together by this weird latex tube, and even when he tried to struggle, there was no hope of him escaping. He imagined what she would act like in the event of him actually winning. Would she actually honor his wishes and take it slowly? As he looked up into her hungry eyes, and eyed her drooling snatch, he felt a wave of doubt crash over him. There was no way that this sex-crazed giantess was going to stand for her prey asserting itself like that. There was no way that she was actually going to allow him to dictate the situation, even if it was because he won a game after they had both entered into a verbal agreement to honor the results beforehand.  

In fact, he reasoned, if he won, Fran probably wouldn’t stop at violating the agreement. Knowing her and how volatile she could become when she was horny, Peter feared that losing would drive her into such a state of anger-fueled lust that she would not only use him as her dildo, but do so in an especially cruel and violent way, just as payback for losing. The more he thought about this possibility, the more likely it seemed. He felt his heart sink — he was stuck between a rock and a hard place…he was stuck between Fran’s old beat-up dildo and her lubricated pussy. He stared at her hairy monster, dripping in anticipation down her thigh. His heart sank even further. That was it — there was no escape. He was a prisoner of this lustful, titanic, middle-aged sex-maniac, and the sooner he accepted it, the easier she would go on him. Bowing his head, he accepted his fate. 

“Th-the lie is…that…that your husband died in a sex accident with you,” he said quietly, knowing full well that it was the truth.  

“Wrong!” cried Fran happily, pointing down at him with a giant finger. “My name’s just “Fran” — it’s not short for anything. The other two were true — oh thank gawd!! I win!!” She did a little dance, shaking and jostling her big ass this way and that as she fingered herself a few more times. Privately, she suspected that Peter had thrown the game on purpose, but this thought didn’t discourage her. In fact, it made her all the more happy; it meant that he had finally decided that struggling against her was useless, and that he had accepted his ultimate fate as her sex toy for life.  

She danced back over excitedly to her underwear drawer, her bedroom shaking with each step of her huge body. She grabbed more items from the drawer, just below where Peter was standing. She then grabbed him and trekked to a footstool in front of her walk-in closet.  

“See this thing right here?” she asked of Peter, indicating to the stool. “I call this my fuckstool. Like the sound of that, little guy?”  

“Y-your…fuckstool?” he asked uneasily.  

She laughed. “Yes! So eloquent, I know! But it certainly does get the idea across, doesn’t it?”  

“It…it sure does,” said Peter, feeling more and more afraid by the second.  

“Since I’m a natural dom,” continued Fran imperiously, tossing her head in the air, “I deserve to be on top, regardless of my size and weight, don’t you think?” 

“I…I c-can’t argue with that,” stuttered Peter.  

Fran chuckled at his response. “Of course you can’t argue with it,” she said, grinning down at him. “It’s true! And anyway, I think you’ve realized now that it’s unwise to try and go against my wishes. You’ve taken some very positive steps in that direction, haven’t you, my new little dildo man?”  

Peter could do nothing except nod his head slowly as he looked at the stool. It was roughly a foot off the ground, made of wood, and reinforced with what looked like steel…to support quite a bit of force. Fran positioned Peter’s prone body on the stool as she walked around, getting everything ready.  

“Yes, as you know, unfortunately I lost my poor little husband a while back in a sex accident. Aww, sweet, sweet Walter! He had been so perfect for me!” 

“Wh-what…what actually happened to him?” asked Peter, asking the question in order to delay Fran’s inevitable usage of him. Immediately, though, he regretted his question — he really didn’t want to know the details. But Fran was already in the midst of her answer.  

“We had had an argument over me treating him more like an object and less like a hubby. The nerve of him, right!? And all because earlier we ate at that Mexican restaurant he absolutely looovveed but damn well knew didn’t agree with me!” 

“Oh…w-wow,” said Peter, thinking that this was a strange beginning to the story. But Fran was still talking. 

“So…you know, at this restaurant, I eat some enchiladas, praying that they’re not gonna disagree with me this time, but of course, guess what happened?” 

“They…they didn’t agree with you?” ventured Peter.  

“They certainly did not,” said Fran emphatically. “When I had to go use the restroom – with little Walter as well, just to keep him safe, you know…I did my business, which I have to say was especially nasty, thanks to those awful enchiladas, and guess what?” 

“Wh-what?” asked Peter, dreading the answer.  

“There was no more toilet paper!” boomed Fran. “And not only that — there wasn’t even a single paper towel — just the goddamn air dryers!” 

“Oh…oh man,” said Peter, trying to respond appropriately to a story that was getting more and more terrifying by the second.  

“There was only one solution,” continued Fran, walking around Peter as she told the story. “He begged me not to, but I didn’t have a choice, you see? What was I gonna do, walk around in public with a shit-stained backside? No way!” 

“N-no…no way,” agreed Peter fearfully, nodding his head even as he felt himself inwardly retching.  

“He put up a fight when I used him to wipe my lady parts,” continued Fran, “but ohhhhh boy, you should have heard how he screamed bloody murder each time she used him to clean the other end.”  

“Ohhh g-god,” whispered Peter, horrified. Fran caught his tone and looked down at him with a stern light in her eyes.  

“I didn’t want to hurt him, you understand,” she said emphatically. “I loved him! But it was him, Walter, who suggested the place, right!?” 

“R-right,” said Peter, nodding his head vigorously again, thinking that it would be dangerous to do anything but vehemently agree with her.  

“And besides, at least I rinsed him all the way after each wipe, ‘ya know? It could have been a lot worse for him, but no — I was considerate!” 

“V-very…very considerate,” agreed Peter, nodding his head some more. 

“So anyway,” kept on Fran, “the argument escalated and spilled over into the ensuing days. The little runt was totally giving me the worst kind of attitude possible — he was totally ungrateful for everything I did for him, and everything I was for him. He just wouldn’t wipe that insufferable little pout off his face. And so I stopped caring for him in the same way. Why should I, after all, if he wasn’t going to be grateful?” 

“W-why…why indeed?” asked Peter, agreeing with her.  

“So occasionally… I’d use him, then toss him in my underwear drawer. Without so much as a wash or kiss,” she continued. “But it wasn’t like I was trying to be cruel to him or anything! I only did that when I was late for work. I mean like I said, it was largely because I was sick of his little ungrateful attitude, but anyway, he should have thanked me for fitting him in! I could have easily just gone to work without having sex with him at all, you understand! I could have just as easily have ignored him because I was mad, but did I? No! No, I still wanted to be intimate with my little hubby, even as we were fighting. And what did he do? Instead of being grateful, it made his attitude even worse! He should have been thanking me, and not make me feel bad about it!” 

As she was telling Peter this story, she strapped a helmet onto his head that was shaped like the mushroom tip of a penis. He did his best to try and just focus on the story she was telling him, but it wasn’t really helping his anxiety. The story itself was getting worse and worse, and what was happening in real time was also getting worse — after the mushroom-tip penis helmet, Fran produced a ball sack-shaped suction cup, outfitted with boots for his feet, and put it on him. He was looking more and more like an actual dildo.  

“Finally,” said Fran bitterly, continuing her story, “the little devil asked for a divorce. A divorce!? Can you believe that!? And after everything I did for him?!” Fran suctioned Peter to the stool and placed it a few feet away. She went over and closed the closet door, revealing a full-sized, hanging mirror attached to it.  

“I know how visual you little men are,” she said, briefly interrupting her story. “This way you can see my “huge tits” and my “big ass” when I hop off and give you a breather. See, this is what I’m talking about — see how kind and thoughtful I am? See how I’m thinking about your needs, Peter, even as I’m totally horny, about to fuck your brains out? This is exactly what Walter didn’t appreciate.” 

“He…he should have appreciated you,” managed Peter, inwardly squirming. ‘This lady must be delusional,’ he thought as he looked at her huge naked body. She’ was a crazy, tall, fat lady, pushing 50. Yeah, her breasts and butt were huge — heck they were enormous – since a good amount of her fat distribution went there. But they were covered in cellulite, stretch marks, a few wrinkles. She didn’t look unnaturally ugly or anything, since it was only natural that she should look this way now after years of overfeeding and natural aging…but there was no question that Fran was not the model of female attraction for someone like Peter. 

He stared at her huge body because he couldn’t help it, like if he was looking at a car accident. He was repulsed by her body, especially by the knowledge that she was about to fuck him against his will, but he kept all his feelings to himself. Fran beamed at how cute he looked, not knowing his true thoughts, as she turned around and squatted over him. Her big sweaty ass cheeks spread out as she lowered herself, hovering her monstrous pussy just above his trapped form. Her drooling pussy was emitting a strand of cum that hung down for a few moments, finally dropping onto his head, covering his face and shoulder and causing him to cough up the fragrant fluid.  

“Hmmm, yesss,” purred Fran, “so…anyway, going back to the story: I placed Walter on this very stool – only without the helmet or rubber back brace. Yesss, I’ve learned my lesson, little Peter. Don’t worry — I’m gonna take extra good care of you when I use you— you’ll be totally safe I promise!”  

As she said this, she lowered herself down and made contact with him, teasing her fat furry lips with his head, scratching his face with her pubes and grunting as she leaked out more fluid. Then she went back up. Peter was now sputtering out more of her cum. He looked across the room into the mirror, staring at his pathetic form just below this enormous older woman.  

“Poor Walter begged me not to,” said Fran, as she continued to tell her story while teasing Peter’s head with her pussy. “But I was in no mood to be gentle to him. Not after the way he treated me. So I started to anger-fuck him…” 

Fran wiggled slightly over his head, lining him up just right. 

“...like this!” She yelled just as she began slamming her huge ass down on the bench, hopping up and down a few times – ramming him in and out of herself before plopping back down and grinding against the bench. With a swift and squelching flourish, Fran proceeded to fuck Peter’s entire body without any care for his well-being. This was not romantic, intimate sex — this was swift, brutal, and slogging. Fran was truly fucking Peter’s whole body…extremely hard.  

Peter tried to cry out, but he may as well have been trying to plead and beg with a hurricane or a tornado. Fran plopped down fully and squeezed her vaginal muscles like a vice, and once again, Peter opened his mouth to scream. But it was useless — his entire body was flooded with so much cum that he could actually feel his lungs beginning to fill with her cum. There was so much of it that he could see some leak out from beneath her whenever he got a glimpse of them both, however brief, in the mirror. Fran raised herself up, as her greedy monster attempted to pull him up with her, before finally letting him go, with a loud and suckered pop, making his suctioned form comically wobble and sway about, just like a real-life dildo would. 

Peter was in bad shape after just about 30 seconds of fucking. He was coughing up her thick goo, feeling as though she had nearly broken his ribs. His body felt like it was on fire as he fought for oxygen, for air, for anything that would grant him a temporary respite from the vicious and brutal onslaught of Fran’s monstrous vagina.  

“How’s it feel to be a man now?!” she cackled above him, before continuing to pound her huge bulk down on top of him, skewering herself with the entire length of his prone and hapless body. 

“You see, Peter,” she continued as she fucked him, “I was in such a state of rage that I didn’t really pay attention to how hard I was fucking my poor little hubby. After my fifth orgasm or so I was satisfied and ready to forgive.” 

Peter was straining to listen to the story. Despite his current situation, he was still actually quite interested to learn what happened — he harbored a sick kind of fascination, mixed with dread, about how this story was going to end.  

“Only what I found when I climbed off him,” came Fran’s voice, “My poor little hubby, god bless his soul, was completely covered in cum and littered with my pubes. He was ghost-white…his mouth was agape and filled with so much cum that it leaked out onto this stool here. And oh, Peter, I tried to save him really, I did! I tried to squeeze it out of his lungs when she saw that his poor little matchstick ribs had caved in! Poor, tiny man! I had literally destroyed him with my vagina! I had let emotion get the better of me…and I’ve paid the price, little Peter — I’ve been lonely ever since.” 

Fran paused in her fucking of Peter and her story, turning around to look down at him as he dripped with her cum. “You know,” she said sadly, “sometimes I wonder if any man could bring me as much happiness as Walter did. Even in his final act, he gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had. If only…if only I could take it back.” She bowed her head and looked quite sad for a moment, to the point that Peter actually felt a twinge of pity for her. 

“But that’s in the past,” she said, brightening up as Peter felt his dread abruptly return. “Now I have a chance at a new beginning! And with a dashing, and darn right adorable little guy named…Peter!” 

Peter tried to answer, but his mouth was still full of cum, so all her could do was utter a few gurgling sounds.  

“And with a little bit of training,” Fran continued, “I know that he can be just as good. But right now he’s got quite a bit of teasing he’s gotta make up for!” She smiled deviously and began to lower herself back to Peter’s still-coughing form, teasing her swollen pussy lips again with his head. She then wiggled a little, descending further as she lined him up just like before.  

“Now hold still for Fran sweetie,” she breathed huskily. “Mama’s gonna make you hers!”