In The Graces Of The Conqueror

Fully in the Graces of the Conqueror

George Hutchinson scooped Wendy Wu by her armpits, and with only a fraction of his power, got her off her feet. As Wendy hung in the air for that split-second, she cycled through a series of

expected

emotion: surprise, humiliation, white-hot rage, feelings she was supposed to have.

Can I stop him? Can I do anything? Should I shout? What did I do to make him act this way? What made him think this was acceptable?

She asked herself these questions and found there were no answers, the questions useless, completely irrelevant to her situation. Her body had already found the appropriate solution: Allow entry. Submit fully. As she went limp, a rush of heat went through her. In that second, her pink panties were soaked, and her mindset reverted a couple hundred years...

Wendy Wu should not have been surprised. Truly, there was no other reasonable outcome. A handshake wouldn't suffice. A kiss on the cheek would be an insult. With the amount of time they'd spent in close-quarters, with all the physical exertion of the day, with the sun setting, with dinner approaching and the bedroom beyond, no other conclusion could have even been considered...

It all started so innocently.

8am.

George saw the moving truck from his house. He approached Wendy's moving men, a skinny white teen with purple streaks in his hair and a chubby lackadaisical Hispanic. The Hispanic balanced a box on his left shoulder, his arm too short to steadily hold the box.

"No," George had said, and with that firm reprove he'd become their superior.

Holding a heavy brown box, George walked through Wendy's front door.

"Hello, I'm George. I live down the street. I'm helping you move in."

"Oh thank you so very much. I'm Wendy. I'll let you get on," she said, and went to the kitchen to place the fine china in the cabinets.

George was a large man, big and tall, had to duck down to avoid hitting his bald head on the doorframe, his face and chin covered in bristly grey and black hairs, the slight monobrow another sign of how lax he was with his personal grooming. His XXL shirt fit snug to his heavy frame, his blue jeans large enough to fit two Wendys, his body that of a man who stayed fit not with a gym routine but by lifting, fixing, general 'man' work. He looked to be in his fifties and had just turned 66.

Wendy was very pretty and very 'Oriental'; high cheekbones, oval-shaped eyes, fine jet-black hair styled into a functional bob. Her slim frame had changed little since she was a teen, her breasts as pert as they were at 16. Aging had aided her through the years, rounding her buttocks into a desirable peachy shape. She wore a plain blue XS shirt and grey slacks with sandals, looked to be in her mid-thirties but had just turned 47.

Just like that, George barged into her home and marked his domain, and Wendy offered no resistance, this professional woman too occupied by her own thoughts.

Should I give a speech when I start at Reichmann & Ritter or should I give it that personal touch, introduce myself to the workers one-by-one? Jamie's (son) college is within driving distance; should I get a fold-out sofa for him to crash on during visits? Would Tracy (daughter), Jack (son-in-law) and adorable Koko (granddaughter) be able to stay over? Full ownership should allow for an annex. Would I need planning permission? Do I need to submit to a committee? Oh, of course. Of course...

Wendy had placed post-its around the home, instructing the movers which items belonged where. George lifted the bedframe, and with some expert manoeuvring, got the king-sized bed into the room. His two assistants lifted in the mattress, and before they could plop it into the frame, George had them put the covers over the mattress, lay it gently into the bed frame, had them grab the sealed duvet, the plush pillows and laid those on the bed too. George felt a tingle in his testicles when looking upon the finished article.

Wendy did the delicate work, stocked the kitchen, put the towels into the bathroom's cabinets. George did the bulk of the work, the heavy lifting, the key parts. George installed the TV, double checked the appliances, made sure the electrician had done a proper job, all while giving instructions to his two subordinates.

It was a cosy bungalow, a living area connected to a kitchenette, bathroom, and bedroom at the end, and so all the work was done in under 90 minutes. Wendy was surprised when she exited the bathroom - so absorbed in her work notes, she tuned out the slamming, banging - and saw the home had been furnished. A box of family photos and another full with academic books was left next to the cabinet, there to be sorted as she saw fit. Wendy put the photos and books in their correct order - fully forgetting that the workmen standing outside were hired by

her

and being dealt with by another.

George knew the movers were paid by their company and couldn't ask for any direct compensation. Even so, after George shook their hands, he reached into his wallet, and gave them each a healthy tip. They thanked him and went to their van.

George started towards the home. He stood by the doorway. Wendy shielded her eyes, the white man's gargantuan frame haloed by the red-hot afternoon sun.

"Thank you so much." Wendy wiped her hands on her slacks. Her Asian accent had been refined by her time in the US, careful pronunciation keeping her R's and L's distinct. "You have been just fantastic today." Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.

"It's not a problem." A draft came from behind, and the strong heavy smell of George's efforts washed over Wendy Wu. The scent was strong, cloying, Wendy able to feel it in the back of her throat. George looked behind him. Wendy apologised and skipped over to shut the door.

If sweat levels were compared, Wendy looked like she'd made a brisk walk, and George looked like he'd just ran a marathon. His shirt was glued to his skin, the cotton pushed in and around his pumpkin-shaped gut, his erection extending the denim of his jeans. Wendy Wu had been around white men for many years and had brief flings with over a half-a-dozen, experienced a white man's penis inside her and had long overcome the surprise and joy at the extra size, girth, and overall power difference. She'd broken up with these white men for very adult reasons. They wanted different things, life had taken them in different directions, they'd drifted apart. Wendy had never had sexual relations on

the same day

she'd met a man. The limit was at 3 official dates, her average 'give up' time 5.

Now

was never in the equation.

Wendy was off her feet before she could utter a syllable. On the way down, George grabbed Wendy, her tiny body shaking as she slammed into his torso, the vibration rattling her teeth and toes. Without a say, with no choice in the matter, she felt George's beard hairs pressed on her delicate soft skin. His dry tongue explored her pink wet mouth.

Wendy straddled her legs around George's wide mid-section. With his lips still in contact with hers, he held her butt for traction - his erection growing - and took her into the newly decorated bedroom. George lowered his knees and allowed Wendy to get on her feet. This was the moment when she could refuse, scream, tell him to get out, now, or she'll call the police.

Wendy's expression was muted, still. Her mouth a straight line. Her response to this intrusion? She raised her hands up. Way up. Like she was

so eager

to answer the question.

George pinched the ends of Wendy's shirt and flung it off. Wendy unbuttoned and shimmied out of her slacks. George took his shirt off - the flag-sized garment filling the air with his manly scent - and let it fall to the ground. George took a look at his conquest, let out a loud gust of air. Her body, slim, fit, a masterpiece, a fabulous body for a woman of

any

age.

Wendy wore a plain white bra - functional and suited to her petite shape, and down below, an image which got George to full attention: pink lacy panties with a tiny bow at the top of the garment.

As quick as a flash, Wendy crouched, grabbed onto George's waistband, and pulled down his jeans and underpants in one go. Wendy was on all fours as the scent of her man's crotch wafted through her airways, all the day's sweat seeped into the large hairy nest, the smell bringing tears to her eyes. Through the mist, she got her first good look at his instrument. She expected him to be large but was not ready for what she saw...

His proportions were almost cartoon-like. The girth of his cock wide - wider than her forearm, his bright pulsing penishead engorged, flashing red like an alert alarm.

Before her mouth could latch onto his privates, George slipped his forefingers into Wendy's thin bra straps, pinched them, lifted them up. Her breasts, small and pert as a teenage girl's, raised George's erection to painful levels. George bent over, scooped Wendy by her armpits and tossed her on the bed. Wendy bounced once, and with deft agility, George was on top, crouched on his knees, lavishing her with kisses to her lips, cheeks, neck.

Wendy's panties were soaked solid. Her breathing was shallow, her mouth dry - and then instantly drenched when George pressed his tongue into her mouth. Forced, more like. Because make no mistake about it - Wendy had absolutely no say in the matter, no say in what was happening to her. She couldn't say 'yes,' 'no,' 'stop.' Words were redundant. George had a goal in mind and nothing Wendy could say would stop that.

Just a scant

few minutes

after he said hello, two of his stubby fingers reached into her sodden panties, pulled them down, and with the nail of his big toe, he slid them off her feet. Pheromones filled the air. George's heavy-leaden tip made contact with Wendy's soft black wispy mound - and he almost let it all out, gritted his teeth, tensed up till the vines bulged out of his neck. With the weight of a man nearly

triple

her size on top of her, Wendy pried her legs open, and readied herself for the massive girth.

George slid in, teeth mashing, body clenched, tight as iron as he entered inside. Wendy's whole body, from her tiny toes to the top of her flowing raven hair, felt as if it was on fire. A wildfire raging and taking everything in its path.

"Guk. Ugh. Gah!" Wendy spat out a series of deep guttural groans. She opened her mouth and latched her lips on George's flabby shoulder, her teeth scraping against his flabby flesh. She clutched her man's back, pushed into the lean muscle, her fingernails digging into the meat. She had no concern if she was causing George any pain, her untamed fury only adding to his (and her) pleasure. Primal urges erupted from both parties. George was celebrating the victory, his new base, his new prize. Wendy was thrilled to be chosen, to be taken, to be fully in the graces of the conqueror.

No thoughts were given to protection. They were lost to it, to the lust, to his thick iron-hard cock inside her, to the delectable Asian body beneath him.

George was in a daze, acting all on impulse as he thrust in, kissed her lips. wallowing in the glory, in his victory, the foreign woman tamed and won. George was intoxicated by her body, her demeanour, the way she so eagerly

allowed

herself to be taken, enamoured by every facet of her. George loved this woman because he had every reason

not to

-

!

That settled it. That was

it

. There was no backing out. No pulling out. No half-measures. No middle-ground. George was

all-in

. In no uncertain terms, George Hutchison was attempting to impregnate Wendy Wu.

Her reaction, in the back of her mind, from one of the very few braincells not fully immobilized by the power of the white man, was considering which prenatal vitamins to purchase.

With George still inside Wendy, he moved to his side, and then to his back, allowing his woman on top. He clasped his stubby fingers on her tiny hips and pushed from his back. His face was blood red. Inch-wide vines popped in his forehead. He reached his fingers down to her soft buttocks -

done

. As tense as a folded piece of red-hot metal, George mashed his teeth together as he erupted, his semen flooding its intended destination.

As the semen flowed in, George pat Wendy's buttocks, an unconscious gesture which did so much for his woman. A way of appeasement, a 'well done.' 'Good girl, good job.' With that, Wendy too reached her orgasm, the sensations starting from where he'd inserted himself, travelling up to her chest, to her flushed cheeks, ribbons of sweat pouring into her wide-open mouth.

"Ohhh-ohhh-ohh!"

Wendy fell on top of George, her breasts and chest landing on warm leftover semen. George's hands travelled back to her buttocks, fingers pressed into the cushiony softness.

"Oh," George said. "I didn't lock my front door."

"Oh?" Wendy replied, half her face glued to George's sweaty hairy chest. "Do you want to rush back there?"

"No, it's fine. It's a good neighbourhood."

End