Feature writer: R. Donnehy

Feature Title: Fat Gerta

Story Codes: Fm, Historical, Religious

Author’s Notes: To encourage the posting and reposting of more stories about BBW’s (big beautiful women), I’m providing the following original story, inspired (very loosely) by a character in Gunter Grass’ “The Flounder.” Post comments to alt.sex.fat; do not reply to my email address. Medievalists, please excuse my unscholarly anachronisms.

Fat Gerta

St Freja’s Abbey, Saxony, 1189 AD

Resting her hands on her wide hips, the abbess, Fat Gerta, closely scrutinized the young man sitting before her. “You are young for a journeyman carpenter, are you not?” She handed the lad a cup of ale.

“I assure you, Reverend Mother, I have completed my apprenticeship. I learned my trade from none other than Master Albert Runz of Dornsberg, the finest carpenter in Saxony. You may see my work here in Aarnsbruck, in the church pulpit, and also in the gateway
to Count Falke’s residence.”

“I have seen them, Master Hans, and they are fine works indeed.”

He was a handsome young lad, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, small of stature but well-built, with curly brown hair and earnest, innocent-looking brown eyes. Fat Gerta, despite her fifty years of age, was not insensitive to his good looks. He made her feel warm.

She went to draw herself a cup of the cool ale, bending over the keg beside the cupboard. Straightening up, she glimpsed his face in the looking-glass on the wall: the young man’s eyes were fixed on her big bum. She smiled to herself, feeling pleasantly flushed. Their eyes met in the mirror, and the lad quickly looked down. She turned back toward him, and took a deep draught of ale. Was that an erection poking up beneath the apron of his shirt? What a rare and sweet young lad, she thought, to feel desire for me, and I old enough to be his grandam.

“Indeed, you do fine work,” she continued, returning to the business at hand. “But this is a much bigger task. The paneling in the main hall was destroyed in the fire last winter, as you saw. The remaining paneling, in the cells and chapel, is half-rotten. In short, nearly the whole abbey must be refurbished, and fine carving work is required in the chapel. Here at this abbey we serve the Blessed Saviour,” her voice now dropping to a murmur, “but we also serve the old gods, as we have done since before the days of Charles the Great — I tell you this privily; many in the Church do not sanction the old practices — and so we require figures of Freja, and Wotan, and so on, cunningly carved in the wainscoting, so that the eye does not light upon them unless looking for them; but if one looks for them one sees them everywhere. Are you able to take on a task of this size, to our satisfaction?”

“Aye, Mother. I have done such work before, in Master Runz’s service, for the brothers at Wolund Abbey. It will take me longer working by myself — at least till Candlemas next year — but I shall be able to do it. And I am pleased to carve something in the service of Blessed Freja and the old ones. What are the wages, Mother?”

“Six marks in silver, plus cost of the woods, and you shall have bed and board here at the abbey while you complete your work.”

Hans’ mind reeled. Nearly two year’s bed and board, no tramping about the countryside searching for work in the midst of winter, and six marks free and clear at the end of it. With that money, he could open hi own shop. And the abbess, though clearly nobody’s fool, was a kind women, and a devotee of Freja; in sum, a good person to work for. He
must be careful not to stare lustfully at her again. But her huge, soft bottom was so enticing.

“Agreed,” he bowed respectfully, driving away these thoughts, “and much obliged for your custom, Mother; I shall do my utmost to satisfy you in every detail.”

He raised his ale cup to hers, and they drained them, sealing the bargain before Wotan. She had done well, the abbess thought, to find this young journeyman; the master carpenter in Becken had wanted twenty marks for the job. And this lad was far easier on the eyes.

“As I say, it is a big task,” she continued. A mischievous smile played over her lips. “But if you like big things, I dare say there are other big things, here in the abbey, that could use your attentions.”

Her eyes twinkling, she coyly ran her hands over her bosom and hips, as though smoothing out her habit.

Hans smiled back, shyly, his heart pounding, unsure of her intent. Well, there was only one way to find out. “Mother, I … if I take your meaning aright, I would say that, er, the bigger the size of your, er, tasks, the firmer is my, er, resolve to satisfy you.”

Fat Gerta beamed. “By Freja’s womb, you are a gallant and sweet young man, Master Hans. And I find your boldness charming.”

She kissed him on the lips; he stood, trembling, taking her in his arms, feeling the lush softness of her body. She could now clearly feel his hardening prick pressing against her belly.

“Nay,” she giggled, reluctantly disengaging from him, “we may not grapple in earnest here, sweetheart; we might be seen. This abbey isn’t strict about chastity; but some show of discretion must be observed, or the bishop will hear of it and be obliged to reform us. Come now, let us take our supper with the sisters. I wish you to be well-fed; for I will put you to some strenuous work tonight.”

The guest room in which Hans was lodged was adjacent to the abbess’s cell, with a connecting doorway. And so it was a simple matter for him to slip into her room when, after Vespers, Fat Gerta tapped on his door. She had removed her habit and wimple, and stood before him wearing only a fine linen shift, her grey-blond hair hanging down her back in two thick braids.

“Come, lad,” she cooed, “I’ve had a bath drawn for us. Shall I wash you?”

She gestured to a large wooden tub, with steam rising from the water, beside the large curtained bed. Hans hastily pulled off his belt, shirt and hosen, stepping into the tub and sinking down in the hot water.

The abbess took a flannel, steeped in soapwort, and began lathering his shoulders and chest, kissing him, and murmuring, “Such a gorgeous young lad!”, such that he began to feel bashful.

But the bashfulness soon gave way to lust, particularly when she bade him stand up and began washing his buttocks, and then his male organ, sliding her soapy fingers over it, till it was rock-hard and throbbing in her hand.

Rinsing off the soap, she said, “Close your eyes, sweetheart: I have a nice treat for you.”

Suddenly, he felt his prick engulfed in the warm wetness of her mouth. He came almost at once, spurting his hot semen onto her tongue, as his knees buckled and he braced himself against the sides of the tub, panting. She released his now limp organ, wiping a strand of come from her lips, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did you like that, sweet?” He nodded weakly, smiling, and sank back into the water.

“Come, then, it’s your turn to wash me, ere we go to bed.”

She drew the shift up over her head in one smooth movement, and climbed, naked, into the bath with him. Limp as Hans had been a moment ago, he quickly revived upon seeing this abundance of soft, rosy-pink female flesh before him. Ah, gods! how lovely she was! Her heavy, pendulous breasts were covered with a delicate tracery of feint blue veins, and capped with large nipples the color of coral; her belly was full and round; her
female parts were prominent, covered with a thick, shaggy forest of hair; her buttocks were so voluminous, so broad that he could barely span her with his arms; her thighs were thick and beefy. The abbess immersed herself in the water, and then stood before him. Finding the soapy flannel, he began washing down her back. She took his hands in hers, and guided them round her thick waist, up to her soft, heavy breasts. Snuggling tight against her, he kissed her neck and ear as he kneaded her breasts.

“By the gods,” he whispered, “I’ve never felt anything this wonderful.”

“Ah,” she cooed, “I am glad that you are pleased with my big floppy teats. You are a tender and ardent lover, Hans. Have you had many paramours?”

“Nay, Mother, you are the first.”

“Why, gentle lamb, how sweet of you to offer your first-fruits of love to cheer a lonely old woman such as I.”

He took up the flannel again, and began washing her immense buttocks and thighs. Her pubic hair grew all the way back here, poking out from between her buttocks like grass in the chink of a stone wall. Leaning forward slightly, she spread her cheeks for him, allowing him to run the flannel deep within the fur-lined crevice of her arse, down into her lovely cunt.

“You are pleased with my large bum, are you not?” she cooed. “I saw you gazing at it this afternoon.”

“Aye, loveliest Mother,” he whispered hoarsely. “I meant no disrespect, but I cannot keep my eyes from it.”

“Enough washing, sweetheart; let us to bed now,” she whispered urgently. Rinsing off and stepping out of the tub, she dried herself with a linen towel, and Hans did the same.

Fat Gerta climbed into the four-poster bed, rolling onto her belly and spreading her thick thighs. Reaching back, she stroked her backside.

“Love, kiss me here,” she cooed.

Hans needed no further invitation. Scrambling between her thighs, he began showering her huge, jiggling buttocks with kisses, as she giggled, squirmed and cooed with pleasure beneath him. At first Hans alternated his kisses, going from one buttock to another. Then he began kissing and licking each lovely little dimple that graced the abbess’s nether-cushion; and soon he was rubbing his whole face against the soft warm flesh, as he kneaded the cheeks with his hands. Like a swimmer caught in a whirlpool, he was inexorably drawn inward, towards the sweet, furry abyss.

Spreading her cheeks, he asked, “Mother, may I kiss you in here, too?”

“Oh, aye! Please!”

Joyfully, the lad buried his face in the crack, nuzzling, kissing, licking, till his tongue found her anus.

Fat Gerta squealed, “Aye!”, and Hans easily slid his tongue inside.

The abbess’s clitoris was urgently begging for release, and she reached under her belly, frantically rubbing it, while her lover’s hot wet tongue burrowed in her bunghole, licking, sucking, caressing. The orgasm caught her like a summer thunderstorm: sudden, violent, breathtaking. When she opened her eyes again, he was lying beside her.

“Did I give you pleasure, Mother?”

“Did you ever!” she laughed, kissing his mouth and taking him into her arms. “You are the most skillful lover I’ve ever had; yet you say I’m your first. Freja herself must be your instructress.”

“Your body instructs me, beloved Mother.”

She rolled over onto her back. “Come, love,” she cooed.

Eagerly, he climbed between her legs, and she wrapped her thick thighs round his waist, pulling him down upon the softness of her belly, his hard prick nestling in the hairy thicket of her loins.

“Aye, love, put it in me now. Ohhhhhh!! Prick me deep, love. Ohh! Blessed Freja, this is sweeter than…”

And then there was only the rhythmic sound of her cries, and the creaking of the bed, as she rocked her huge hips beneath him, meeting his urgent thrusts. As her cries blended into one long scream of pleasure, he felt the love of her overtake his body, and he emptied himself deep within her.

For a long time, they clung to each other in silence, his slender body riding upon her heaving belly like a ship upon the ocean.

At last the abbess laughed, “I see that you are indeed a fine carpenter, for you nailed my arse perfectly.”

She sat up, and poured out two cups of ale from a jug upon the night stand.

“Let this refresh you.”

They both drained their cups in one draught. He began kissing her mouth, savoring the sweet-sour taste of the ale on her tongue, the softness of her lips against his, sharing the very air that she breathed. At last he began planting light kisses on her forehead and eyelids.

“Sweet love, Freja bless you,” she cooed gratefully. “Now, let us say our prayers together ere we sleep; for I would thank the gods for sending you to me.”

At dawn the next morning, a black-robed friar rapped sharply at the gate of the abbey. Fat Gerta, still sleeping naked in Hans’ arms (for in truth, they had slept little, and made love much, during the night), was hastily roused by her trusted confidante, Sister Amelia.

The abbess sent Hans back into his guest room, while she threw on her habit. A minute later, she strode down to the scriptorium where the friar was awaiting her. A black robed Dominican. Fat Gerta felt uneasy.

“Ah, Reverend Mother Gertrude von Roheim,” he smiled icily. He was tall and lanky, with a face like a vulture. “It is a privilege to meet you.”

“You are welcome, Brother … ?”

“Brother Otto von Thalen.” The smile fled from Fat Gerta’s face. “Ah, I see you have heard of me.”

This was the man who had organized the “reform” of St. Stefan’s Abbey in Becken. Twenty monks, including the abbot, had been starved to death as “penance” for pagan
practices.

“What can we do for a famous Dominican preacher, in our humble abbey?”

“Come, Mother, flattery softens the ungodly, but not men of God. You know very well what the mission of the Dominicans is: to protect the purity of the holy Church.”

All pretense of politeness left him.

“It is rumoured that this abbey has lapsed into the foulest paganism and witchcraft,” he snarled. “Do you deny it?”

Fat Gerta drew herself up in a cold rage.

“Whoever says we have lapsed is a liar. We faithfully observe the order imposed by the
founder of this abbey, and we serve St. Freja.”

(This was true: for the founder of the abbey, Irmengarde von Bisalia, back in the eighth
century, had worshiped the old gods, as had every nun of St. Freja since. And what was the difference between St. Freja and the goddess Freja?)

“Ah, but of course, you being the abbess are the leader of these foul rites, and so you deny it. But I will interrogate every nun here, under torture if necessary, till I get the truth. I advise you to confess now, and seek mercy, before –” The Dominican’s nose twitched oddly. “By Christ’s blood, you smell of fornication, woman!”

Fat Gerta went to a chest in the corner and fetched a certain document. She handed it to the Dominican. His face turned beet-red as he read: it was from the Archbishop of Mainz, exempting the abbey in perpetuity from any external examinations and inquisitions.

He threw the document back at her.

“What did you pay the archbishop for this exemption, witch?”

“That is a grave slander against the archbishop, which he shall hear of. In the meantime, I command you to leave my abbey. NOW, you vulture-faced black-robe!”

A group of nuns, who had gathered in the doorway, burst out laughing.

“And if I see you again on the grounds of this abbey, I’ll set the hounds on you!”

The Dominican sullenly turned and, pushing through the crowd of jeering nuns, walked out to the courtyard.

“Three cheers for Fat Gerta!” Sister Maria shouted. “Hurrah!” the other nuns joined in, lifting the big woman up on their shoulders and noisily carrying her down to the chapel for matins.

A week later, Hans was in Aarnsbruck for the day. He had just finished haggling with the lumber merchant over a large order of paneling wood. Feeling thirsty, he stopped in at the tavern for a pint of stout. A tall black-robed friar sat down across from him.

“Master Hans Carpenter, is it?” the friar smiled. “I am Brother Otto.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Brother Otto. Will you take a pint of beer with me, for the love of God?” The abbess, of course, had told Hans all about the snooping Dominican, but Hans thought it safe to play dumb.

“Why, thank you. You are now working at the Abbey of St. Freja, are you not?”

“That is so. I’m refurbishing the paneling that was burnt last winter.”

The Dominican leaned closer.

“You appear to be an honest Christian lad. And you are not from this heathen place. I would be obliged if you would keep your eyes and ears open at the abbey. Anything hinting of heathen practices, if you know what I mean. I also have reason to believe that the holy-seeming abbess of St. Freja is in truth a fornicating whore.”

Hans stifled a smile.

“There’s a substantial amount of money in it for you, if you can tell me what I need to
know. More than the nuns are paying you, I’ll warrant.”

“The nuns are paying me six marks of silver.”

The Dominican blanched.

“Very well then. I’ll pay seven. In return for useful information.”

“I’ll keep my ears open, Brother Otto. But I can’t believe that the abbess is as you say. Why, she seems a very model of virtue to me.”

“Nay, Master Hans, appearances can be deceiving. But keep your eyes open, and tell me what you learn. I’m staying at the inn. You, Master Hans, may be the key, the key I say, to saving St. Freja’s abbey, and this whole town, from great sin.”

That evening, Hans and Fat Gerta both convulsed with laughter as he related the whole story to her. As he kissed his way down her soft belly, she laughed again, “I’ll cook a sauce to roast that vulture in. Now, give my cunt a good licking, love, and I’ll show you what a fornicating whore I truly am.”

A few days later, Hans knocked at the door of Brother Otto’s room at the inn.

“Who in God’s name … oh, Master Hans, do come in. Sit down. Have you any information for me?”

“Aye, Brother Otto. I would not have thought it possible. The most fiendish practices imaginable, in a Christian abbey!”

“Now, calm down lad. Explain carefully. What practices?”

“Why, worship of Satan himself, at vespers every evening. Instead of saying ‘Our Father which art in Heaven,’ I heard the nuns chanting ‘Our Devil which art in Hell’!

“No! This is better than I suspected.”

“But wait; there are worse things! Every Friday night, as a mockery of Our Lord’s passion, the nuns crucify a dog!”

“No! I’ve never heard of such a fiendish practice.”

The Dominican seemed positively gleeful.

“Seeing is believing, Brother Otto. I myself saw them do it last Friday. They preserve the remains of the dogs in a barrel of spirits, in the southeast corner of the refectory. For what hellish purpose they use the dead dogs, I dared not inquire.”

“No doubt, for some wicked spells of necromancy and demonolatry,” the friar intoned.

“And that abbess, as you said, is no chaste bride of Christ, but is reputed to be the mistress of one Adelbert Schwenk, and has born a bastard child to him.”

“Excellent, excellent! No one else in this town has dared to speak a word to me against these foul witches. Either the townsfolk are heathens themselves, or they are so terrified of this whoring abbess that they fear to denounce her. And that fool of a bishop told me I’d find no heathenism in Aarnsbruck! But you, Master Hans, are a good Christian lad. I believe you’ve earned this.”

The friar opened a strong box, counted out seven silver marks, and gave them to Hans.

That Friday night, as expected, the Dominican burst into the abbey, accompanied by Bishop Oswald and several of Count Falke’s men-at-arms.

“To the chapel!” the friar screamed, as though leading a cavalry charge.

The nuns were gathered there, chanting vespers. The chanting stopped as the Dominican and his company poured in.

“What is the meaning of this?” Fat Gerta boldly demanded.

“Now, my good bishop, you shall see the hellish depravity of this abbey, for which your lax oversight is responsible. Behold, they mock Christ’s passion by crucifying a dog!”

“I see no dog, Brother Otto, do you?” The bishop responded dryly.

“But, there must be a dog here.”

“I see no dog. I see only the holy sisters assembled for vespers, according to the rule of their order. What madness is this of yours, Brother Otto, to drag us here and interrupt their prayers.”

“Nay, but you will see! In the refectory, in the southeast corner. Come! Before they destroy the evidence.”

The whole company, and the nuns, trooped down to the refectory. The Dominican stood triumphantly beside a large barrel.

“In here, illustrious bishop, you will find the remains of crucified dogs, for use in hellish spells of necromancy. Behold the proof!”

The bishop lifted the lid.

“The barrel is full of soapy water.”

Fat Gerta again spoke up, “For the washing of plates and cups, good friar.” By now everyone but the Dominican was laughing.

“Nay, you whore! Do not jeer at a man of God! It is known that you are the mistress of Adelbert Schwenk, and have born a brood of bastards to him. Do you dare deny it?”

At the mention of Adelbert Schwenk, the whole room erupted into raucous laughter.

“Friar, enough of this nonsense!” the bishop roared. “The late Adelbert Schwenk was well-known in this town as a lover of men. You have made ridiculous and malicious accusations against the good sisters of this abbey, and Abbess Gertrude in particular, contrary to the express orders of the archbishop. I will bring charges of slander and disobedience against you before the ecclesiastical court, and I will see to it that you are defrocked. In the meantime, I order you to apologize to the abbess, and then let us leave the good nuns in peace.”

“Apologize, to this witch? Never! What have you done with the carpenter?!”

“Enough madness! Sergeant, place this rogue under arrest and hold him in Count Falke’s dungeon until we return to my residence.”

The Dominican was led off, still shouting, “She has bewitched the carpenter; I know it!”

“And now, good sisters, let us return to the chapel,” ordered Fat Gerta, “to conclude our interrupted service.”

“My dear Gerta,” the bishop said quietly, “by Freja’s blessed womb, I apologize for this intrusion.”

“Well, at least that mad Dominican can do us no more harm. Alas for the brothers of St. Stefan’s.”

“My dear, it is late, and my residence is far. Can you provide me lodging for the night?”

“Of course, dear Oswald; you are always welcome here.”

“Might there still be room in your bed for me, after all these years? I miss your cuddling, my dear.”

“Alas, dear old friend, my heart belongs to another these days. Sister Amelia’s affections are free, though. Give her a good lusty romp in bed, and I will forgive you this unmannerly intrusion.”

“Certainly, my dear. With pleasure.”

In bed that night with Hans, Fat Gerta was melancholy, despite her triumph over the Dominican.

“What is it, dear Mother?” asked Hans, kissing and nuzzling her bare breasts.

“You have your seven marks now. You wanted to open your own shop. I cannot keep you here if you wish to leave.”

“Beloved, I have a year and a half of work here at the abbey yet. Why speak of me leaving now?”

“When you are my age, dear Hans, you will understand that a year and a half is no time at all. Sooner or later you will leave your fat old abbess, go out and seek your fortune, and marry and start a family. But I have come to love you, my sweet, and I cannot bear to give you up.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Mother, do you not understand that I love you too? When I finish my work here, I will set up shop here in Aarnsbruck, a stone’s throw from the abbey; and, if you permit, I’ll come back to your bed every night. I could not happily sleep anywhere but in your arms, my love.”

Fat Gerta took his hand in hers and kissed it. Smiling through her tears she said, “I knew blessed Freja sent me a rare lover; but I did not know how rare and precious you are until this moment.”

They kissed. She began to feel his hard, hot prick poking her big soft belly. “Are you ready again so soon?” He nodded, grinning.

THE END