Aunt Gwen's Little Whoopsie

"--engaged?!"

Aunt Gwen shrugs in a display of regal nonchalance, though the beatific smile she can't quite seem to control tells another story. "It's true, I'm afraid. An Old Maid and an Old Fool; it's really quite a match."

Ginny gasps in mock affront, prodding the noblewoman playfully. "Stop it, Auntie Gwen! Lord Gaspar is not a fool and you are certainly no old maid."

The older woman hums distractedly at that, a bit of concern flashing across her eyes as she lifts her arm for the official looking man fussing at her with some sort of wand, or meter or something. "I...you aren't upset, then? He was your suitor after all, Ginny; it was really quite selfish of me to--"

"Oh Auntie Gwen." Ginny pulls her into a tight hug, the man following right along to continue inspecting her without missing a beat. "Of course not! You gave everything to us for years and years, and it's finally your turn to do something for yourself. We're so happy for you! Both of you!" Ginny glances expectantly towards you. "Aren't we?"

"Oh, absolutely! Gaspar is a very lucky man." He's got no idea how lucky, honestly. Not that you aren't, of course; it actually seems like your stupid plan worked to perfection. Gaspar was the biggest roadblock between you and Ginny, and now he's been safely shunted off into the lovely arms of Aunt Gwen. Who knew that fucking someone would solve all of your problems? Though, hm, maybe that isn't the right way of thinking about it. It's possible that fucking Aunt Gwen specifically solves your problems. That's how science works, right? Whatever, who cares, the important thing is that the matter is solved. You can safely stop thinking about Gaspar forever, and that's certainly a cheery thought.

The serious man with the wand passes in front of you, and you decide to voice the thought that idly crosses your mind. "So who's this guy?"

Gwen waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, one of the physicians. He's just doing the standard examination any newly betrothed couple gets."

Oh, sort of like the blood tests they used to do in your old world before issuing marriage licenses? That's fascinating. You hadn't really considered it yet, but it does make sense that they'd be able to achieve with magic a number of things you're more used to thinking of as technology. Wait, is there a Magic Internet or something here?! And you just don't know the password, or magic chant or whatever? Because if this place has both Ginny and Internet access, you are one billion percent convinced you are in Heaven.

A uncharacteristically energetic gasp from the taciturn physician knocks you out of your reverie. "My Lady! Congratulations are in order!"

Aunt Gwen tilts her head to one side. "Hm?"

"It-it's very faint, but there is no mistaking it!" He holds up his device, which has begun to flash a particularly vibrant pink. "You're with child!"

Ginny sucks in a breath at that, and you're certain that the joyous shriek she lets out as she throws her arms back around your dumbfounded aunt must be ear-piercing? But you can't hear it. All other sounds and colors have drained from the world as you stare at that flashing pink, the doctor's words echoing over and over inside your empty skull. Aunt Gwen is pregnant? How weird! You, like, just dumped a giant load of cum into her what, yesterday? What are the chances she'd be pregnant now!

good. they're very good. that's how all of this works.

Is it really? That's wild. Who knew that cumming inside your aunt could maybe lead to her getting pregnant?

everyone. everyone knows that. you fucking dunce.

You get the sense that the increasingly blase voice that still cares about the insanity of your new reality is flipping you off now, and you know what? Fair. That seems fair. For her part, Aunt Gwen can only manage a shocked smile. "Well then. Um...I suppose we'll have to have the wedding a bit sooner than I'd thought?"

Ginny nods her head excitedly, over the moon at the prospect. "Omigod yes! You'll be so beautiful, I can't wait!"

Aunt Gwen frowns helplessly, striking an apologetic tone. "I suppose we'll have to postpone your own betrothal events, dear."

Your sister lets out an unconcerned pfft. "Don't even think about that, Auntie Gwen. They can all go back to wherever they came from and wait for as long as you need!"

"Sir Candyland, too?"

That gives Ginny pause, her confident demeanor sagging somewhat. "Oh. Sir Candyland, that's right. I should, um...I need to tell him that, well..."

Aunt Gwen cuts in. "Actually, maybe you should let me tell him. Keep things official." She nods distractedly at her own words, as if trying to convince herself. "Yes, that's right. Official. Do you know where he is?"

The sullen silence of that faint voice provides an opportunity for your dumb mouth to open itself up and start making sounds. "I do. Should I get him?"

unbelievable

Not long later, you're hurrying through the hall with your black Candyland mask on, trying to decide on the exact position you should be taking here. So, okay. There's roughly a fifty percent chance you, as Sir Candyland, impregnated Aunt Gwen. That's just math. Does that disqualify You/Him from being matched with Ginny? What's the procedure here? Some sort of cheat sheet would have been fuckin' useful, that's for sure. The librarian you snagged on the way over didn't have any useful thoughts on the matter either. She seemed confused by your artfully subtle questions about how knocking up a princess's relatives fit into the usual courtship etiquette, and then you wound up plowing her over a big stack of scrolls. Which, you know, cool, but still. Not particularly illuminating.

Looks like you're just gonna wing it. It's worked out so far, right? So logically, it can only continue to work out. That, also, is just math.

It's probably for the best that you didn't bother with any kind of elaborate planning, because the moment you slip into the dining hall and Lady Gwendolyn spots you, the look that blooms across her beautiful face drives the wits from your mind. She rises from her seat, the elegant woman melting into the irresistible young sex kitten who rocked your world just a night ago, both personas combining into the full-grown sex panther that's currently slinking towards you. You can only watch helplessly as she sashays closer and closer, hips rocking enticingly and her unbound breasts swaying hypnotically within the thin confines of her dressing gown.

She stops just short of the end of the table, crooking her finger for you to join her. She chuckles indulgently when you hurry to her side, eyes sparkling with impish amusement as she reaches out to run a finger down your cheek. "Good boy. I was wondering when you'd get here."

"Um, sorry. I got...held up."

"Hmm, I bet you did." Her smile widens as she lets her eyes run down your body, helping herself to a serving of man-candy. You start to reach for her hand, only for the woman to tut reproachfully. "Aww, so formal? I'm certain we're well past that, Sir Candyland."

She's got a point. "Apologies, my lady." You take a careful step forward, laying a gentle kiss on her proffered check. If Lady Gwen takes offense to how dangerously close the greeting comes to landing directly on her lips instead, her pleased expression doesn't give any hint of it. "And my congratulations."

"Ah. My nephew told you, then?" When you nod, those supple lips quirk in a little half smile. "What did he tell you, exactly?"

"That you were engaged to Lord Gaspar, my lady. A fine match."

"Mm, yes. I agree." She abruptly sighs, taking another regretful eye full of You. "Though I suppose that means we won't be able to have any more play time."

"I suppose so, my lady."

"Such a shame." She sighs again. "Oh well. Nothing to be done." You're about to agree when she surprises you by leaning forward, her graceful fingers toying with the laces of your tunic. "Unless, of course, Lord Gaspar agrees to a bit of free play. He just might. This is a secret,"--She leans in further, her tits squishing into your chest as her lips brush against your ear--"But I'm very attractive. Men like to agree with me. You don't mind sharing, do you?" You can't resist shivering as you feel her teeth nip gently at your earlobe. "Do you, Sir Candyland?"

It's a miracle that you're able to **** out any words at all. "Um, no. I don't mind."

"Good boy. I'll let you know." She pulls back, her enormous breasts still pressed firmly against you as she casually starts to toy with your tunic again. "Now. Was that all my nephew told you?"

Look, you fully understand that You are her nephew, and you don't need to have actually told You anything in order for You to know it? But your brain simply isn't functioning on that level right now. "Y-yes? Was there more?"

Aunt Gwen chuckles again. "Just a little." She pulls away, her bewitching eyes locked onto yours as she steps into profile. "I believe the maids refer to it as a..." She raises her voice, addressing the perky maid cheerfully polishing silver. "What's the term you all use, dear?"

The maid considers that for a moment, twirling her thick black braid around her fingers. Then she brightens. "Oh! You mean a whoopsie?"

"That's right; thank you, dear." Gwen flips her head around, her long hair cascading in sultry waves down her shoulder as she arches her back to stick out her tummy. "I might have done a whoopsie."

It's all you can do to stare at her for a long moment, Lady Gwen deeply enjoying your stunned expression as she lightly caresses her currently flat stomach. Eventually, you manage to stammer out a response. "W-who's is--"

"It's mine." The older woman's voice cuts through, imperious and unwavering as she coolly cocks an eyebrow at you. "Anything else is immaterial. Understood?" When you quickly nod, she sweetens her steely demeanor by blowing you a kiss. "You are a good boy. And do know that the fact that you may well have been...involved with the matter is a definite feather in your cap."

Uh, really? "How so?"

Gwen raises her eyebrows at you. "A suitor who could theoretically knock up a theoretical woman of my theoretical age in one shot? The matter of heirs would be an afterthought. Especially with Ginny. My God, she must be a fertile little thing. It's a blessing that so many maids have had whoopsies recently, because if my suspicions about her and theories about you are correct, she's going to need significantly more than two tits on tap. I--" She cuts off as her eyes happen to wander down your lower body, unable to miss the **** hard-on that's doing its best to explode out of your pants. "Ah-ha. A little too much spicy talk, Sir Candyland?"

You can only nod, trying and failing to keep your raging manhood under control. "Maybe a little."

Gwen trills in melodic laughter, stepping closer and blowing you another kiss. "That's just fine. We've said what needed to be said, anyhow." You can't hold back a hiss of pleasure as the older woman's fingers trace their way down your stomach, lightly working their way up your throbbing shaft. "If it was still yesterday, I'd have been perfectly pleased to help you myself. Not now, though. Wouldn't be decorous." She sighs in regret, gently squeezing your erection through the thin fabric of your pants. "Still, we simply must be hospitable to guests, yes?" She raises her voice. "Dear?"

The chipper little maid is by her side in a flash. "Yes, mistress?"

"Won't you please help Sir Candyland?"

"Oh, of course!" The maid quickly shimmies her panties down her legs, tongue stuck playfully out as she gives you a little wink. Then she happily turns around, planting her hands on the table and coquettishly waggling her delightfully rounded rear. "It's my pleasure!"

Gwen has already fished your dick out of your overmatched pants, her skillful hand getting in a few cheeky pumps along your length as she rubs your bulbous head up and down the maid's drooling lips. "Ready, my good boy?" Her low chuckle rings in your ear as you quickly nod, and then she's pushed you into those ravenous depths up to the hilt. She wraps her arms around you as you pound away at the blissfully groaning maid, urging you on with little coos and murmurs. Even under normal circumstances, you doubt you'd be able to last long? But Gwen's encouragement is not helping your stamina in the least. You can feel her grin spreading against your cheek when you start to grunt, her whispered words sizzling into your outmatched brain. "Careful now, Sir Candyland. We don't want another whoopsie, do we?"

The maid merrily offers up her opinion on the matter, even as she humps eagerly back against your spasming rod. "I don't m-mind~!"

"Oh? Well then." Gwen's hand snakes down to cup your already-tightening balls. "By all means, Sir Candyland. Whoopsie away."

You don't need any further invitation, a thick torrent of hot seed exploding out of you to utterly stuff the gleeful little maid. Gwen gives you an affectionate pat on the head as you slump over in exertion, her lovely hips sashaying as she moves towards the hall. "Well that was just lovely, Sir Candyland. But I really must be off to see my husband-to-be. But I'll be sure to let you know when I manage to schedule a little play date for us, okay?" She makes a noise of pleasure as you offer a dazed nod. "Good boy. Oh, and Sir Candyland?"

"Yes?"

She pauses in the doorway long enough to stick her belly out again. "We'll just count this as your wedding gift, alright?" She grins in wicked delight at your expression, blowing you another kiss before turning to happily prance away.

The maid ooos in excitement as she feels you harden inside of her. "Wanna go another round?"

"Yes."

By the time you stagger out of the dining hall, the little maid is practically insensate, a giddy grin plastered across her sweet face and a river of cum puddling down her leg. You didn't think it was possible, but you think you might finally be jizzed out. This is your limit. You've finally found it. All that's left is to give your dick a gold watch for its meritorious service and let it give a rambling speech, because your cock is officially retired.

A little voice calls out as you stumble past an open doorway. "Um...Sir Candyland?"

Wha? You blearily glance over, taking in the sight of Ginny as she nervously shuffles in place, arms clasped behind her back and her heavy boobs jiggling right in front of you. "Can we...talk?"

You feel a deep, insistent twitch in your pants. Goddamn it, the retirement's called off.