“They call her Dumplin’,” said Madam Von R--. “Isn’t that awful?” She hid behind her fan. “She’s not really that fat.”

I waited.

“She volunteered, of course, so what could I do. I know her people.”

I waited some more, pretty sure of what was coming.

“I want you to go talk to her, about what we do, about her clothes, which are awful, and, well, see if you can convince her she has made a mistake.”

“Why me?” I asked.

“You’re a man,” the Madam said coldly. “But don’t hurt her feelings.”

I went up to the girl’s room, knocked, introduced myself and took a chair. I crossed my legs and we looked at each other.

She sniffed. “Well,” she said.

“Madam is not sure if you are up to the work,” I said.

She nodded. “I know.”

“I’m suppose to tell you.”

She nodded and looked worried.

“Would you stand please,” I said calmly, “and take off all your clothes.”

Her eyes widened, but she stood and turned her back to me.

“No, no,” I said rather coldly. “Modesty will not do. And do it gracefully, if you please, with style.”

She made a face, turned sideways, working on her fancy bodice with its many bows, puffy sleeves, gobs of lace and ribbons galore. When she finally shrugged out of it and discarded two flimsy kerchiefs, she faced me, her hands at her impressive chest.

“Go ahead,” I told her, trying to look amused. Stripped of her furbelows and extra folds of cloth, her had a fine, if somewhat thick, torso. She was, let us say, generously proportioned, but well proportioned for all of that.

She undid her waist and wiggled her skirt down over her pocket hoops. Then she doffed those contraptions and tossed them aside.

“Don’t wear those again,” I said, “except to a costume ball or some such.”

She nodded, jiggling the curls at the back of her head and her lush boobies.

“Turn about,” I said as she stood there in her fancy stays and lacy shift.

She did, quite prettily.

“You have a fine body,” I told her. “But a poor dressmaker.”

She looked sad-eyed.

“Get rid of the stays,” I said.

She bit her lips and undid her long laces. Then she wiggled the long corset over her ample hips and tossed it on the pile of clothes.

“Shoes, which are very lovely by the way, stockings and garters, if you please.”

She perched on the side of her bed and took them off. She never looked at me. Her pug nose twitched a time or two. Her legs were not very long, but they were shapely and strong looking. Her ass was very well rounded, that sort that rolled and quivered when she walked.

“Now come here,” I said.

She walked across the room and stopped at my wide-spread knees.

“Closer.”

She took another step.

“Are you afraid of men?” I asked.

She nodded. “Some.”

“Don’t be,” I said, “most men are very much afraid of women, afraid they will not be liked or admired, afraid they will fail and look the fool. You have the power to say no.”

She smiled and nodded again.

‘Take it off,” I said. “Remember, men bluster, but women command.”

She gathered her long garment at her waist and then tugged it over her head and threw it behind her.

“Stand up straight,” I said, “shoulders back. Don’t slump.”

Her muff was a small triangle of curls, a bit darker than her light brown hair which she wore very long and tumbling down her back. With her arms back, her full breasts, which had been pressed together by her corset, poked out on both sides and her nipples rose in imitation of her nose, pointing up and to the sides atop her lush half globes. Her belly was a soft puff begging for my hands.

“Up on your toes and turn about twice,” I said.

She did, hands out just a bit for balance.

“Beautiful,” I said. “You are lovely, and your body is quite exciting.”

She let herself down on her heels and relaxed.

“Stand up straight; push out that lovely set of bubbies, be proud of them.”

They were, in fact, impressive; large and domed and rose-bud tipped with no sign of sag. Much more than a handful, highly suckable I was sure. They rose and fell gently with her breathing, an impressive pair.

“Chin up,” I said with a smile. “Let me show you something.” I quickly unbuttoned my foreflap and flipped out my turgid member. It rose half-heartedly and trembled in the cool air, impressively long and thick but far from fully erect, its head still partly sheathed. “Look at this,” I said, holding it up in my palm, a bit surprised by its weight. “This is what the sight of you has done to me.”

She looked down and licked her lips. Her eyes widened and she looked at my face. She smiled rather shyly.

“You can excite any normal man with your body, your grace, your posture, even your glance.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “It’s a trick.” She looked down at my swelling pike again, and it stirred and then jumped.

“Step back,” I said, “put your feet a bit apart and your hands on your hips, elbows back.”

She did, and I released my growing rod to hang before me, quivering against the edge of the chair, steadily growing as blood poured into it. There was now no turning back; it was going to rise, and I was going to ram it into her.

“Now,” I said, “rotate you fine body from left to right a few times and watch your effect on this ugly thing. Do it slowly and keep your shoulders back, chin up.”

She did and by the time she had done the movements three times, my cock was fully upright and pointing at her softly mounded belly. Her breasts were rising and falling a good deal faster now. It rose even higher.

“Stop,” I said, “Now look.”

“My,” she said, one hand at her pudenda and the other at her breast. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Put you hands behind your head and do a few more turns, slowly.”

She did, and my mast staggered up until it was pointed up at her nose.

I smiled. “Shall I put it away?”

She took two long steps, sat on my knees and then rose on her toes and impaled herself without hesitation, gasping as she did so. I held her round, firm buttocks, gobbled up one hard nipple and half a soft breast, and she did most of the work, digging in her feet and flexing her legs as she rogered me hard and fast until she came, mewling and shaking her head. By then I had enjoyed both of her hard tits and sucked and nibbled them to even greater size, darker color and fuller extension.

While she still shivered in my arms, I stood and she wrapped her legs about me as I walked her to her bedside, let her upper body fall back on the quilts and enjoyed myself in her until she and I managed to achieve a mutual orgasm that both of us regretted ending.

After I slid from her, she wiggled her way under her covers, raised her quilt and invited me in. I stripped quickly and we spent the next half-hour or so very pleasantly. When we had to admit we were stated and spent, she asked, “Did I pass the test?”

“Oh, I think so, but they may still call you Dumplin’ you know?”

She smiled and nodded, “I don’t care. I’ll do my best.”

I reported my findings to the Madam and it was a week or so later when the girl’s name arose again, giving my prod a twitch.