Before the Internet revealed all of us to each other and encouraged us to make size content by size pervs for size pervs, we had to mentally “repurpose” mainstream size content. Such sources were usually sci-fi or horror or, tediously often, children’s entertainment. Here follows my ribald extrapolation from The 3 Worlds of Gulliver, which I imagined took place after Gulliver cures the Queen but before his witch trial.
Elizabeth regretted ever saying anything to the Queen. To be fair, she had been in dire straits at the time. Having gone to sea in search of her missing fiancé, Dr. Lemuel Gulliver, Elizabeth was shipwrecked in Brobdingnag, a kingdom of giants. She quickly became the property of the King and Queen, and in order to ingratiate herself to her captors, Elizabeth had spent many long hours telling the Queen about her native England.
Now Gulliver, too, had become shipwrecked in Brobdingnag, and when she was reunited with him Elizabeth thought she could never be unhappy again. The King had already ordered the construction of a magnificent house to Elizabeth’s scale, and upon Gulliver’s arrival he had cheerfully married them at their insistent request. All their needs and wants were met. The fact remained, however, that they were still in the hands of giants, often literally. One misstep could result in great peril.
Her heart sank, therefore, when Lady Pelletrine appeared at the window of their bedroom and relayed the Queen’s request for a private audience with Gulliver. Pelletrine was the Queen’s chief lady-in-waiting and closest personal confidante, and while she had never been anything less than courteous and conscientious regarding Elizabeth’s and Gulliver’s safety and welfare, there was something…unsavory about the way she looked through the window at the court’s tiny guests.
They descended to the front door of their house, Elizabeth more reluctantly than her new husband. When they emerged onto the front steps, Pelletrine was waiting for them patiently, towering over the table that supported their scaled-down house.
The giant lady-in-waiting had her lush dark brown hair mostly contained by the wimple favored by many women of the Brobdingnagian court. Her chestnut eyes gazed down at them expectantly, her soft but powerful hands clasped in front of her. Her burgundy gown was more modest than the garish two-piece outfit the King had insisted be made for Elizabeth, but it nevertheless flattered Pelletrine’s colossal figure.
“Might I also attend the Queen?” asked Elizabeth with false casualness.
Pelletrine smiled decorously as she brought her face down to loom over Elizabeth and Gulliver. “Her Majesty requires Doctor Gulliver in his capacity as her physician. She has sent for Glumdalclitch to look after you this morning. She will be along directly.”
Gulliver turned to his wife. “I’m sure it’s just her stomach again,” he said patronizingly. “You and Glum have a nice time and I’ll be back before you know it.”
He stepped forward and let Pelletrine reach down and curl her fingers around him. Elizabeth could only stand there and silently curse Gulliver’s obtuse intellectual vanity as she watched the giantess carry him off.
Gulliver had previously been introduced to Pelletrine, but he had never before been handled by her; Glumdalclitch had always been his custodian in Brobdingnag. Pelletrine held him gently but firmly, and she minimized the bounce imparted by her gait. She moved with deliberation and care, but every time Gulliver looked up he found her meeting his gaze.
The Queen was already seated when they arrived in her drawing room. Pelletrine set Gulliver down on a low table to let him make his salutations. About him lay the remains of tea and biscuits, and Gulliver concluded that the Queen had just concluded her morning refreshment with her ladies-in-waiting. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing. “How is Madam feeling?”
“Much better, thank you,” said the Queen. “Pelletrine, would you please wait outside and see that we are not disturbed?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Pelletrine with a curtsy and withdrew.
No longer considering herself in public, the Queen unceremoniously removed her crown and laid it on the seat next to hers. Her auburn tresses remained held by a delicate white bonnet, which had been untied from her seafoam-green dress. From his perspective on the low table, Gulliver found the Queen, even seated, nonetheless somewhat imposing. She looked down at him with a frank and cordial smile.
“How has Madam been eating?” Gulliver asked.
“Fine,” the Queen replied guardedly.
“Have you been keeping to three meals daily?” He tried not to look about suspiciously at the crumbs surrounding him on the table.
“Oh, you are a wicked taskmaster,” she exclaimed with false umbrage.
“I am no one’s master, Your Majesty. I am only here to advise Madam.”
The Queen narrowed her eyes but her smile did not fade.
“Forgive me,” pressed Gulliver, “but as Your Majesty’s doctor I must ask, are Madam’s bowels moving as regularly as they should?”
“Not at the moment,” she replied with a solid deadpan, “but, yes, as a rule, everything is moving with all due exigency.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Gulliver hesitated briefly, then guilelessly plowed forward. “How else might I be of service to Madam this morning?”
The Queen lowered her gaze to her lap for a moment, then looked back at the doll-sized man on her breakfast table. “As you know,” she began, “Elizabeth has told us much about your country, some of which I must say is very hard to credit.”
“Elizabeth is an astute observer,” replied Gulliver. “I’m quite certain her accounts are accurate.”
The Queen raised an eyebrow and her mouth twitched slightly to the side. “There is one claim in particular,” she said, “that, as a doctor, you are well-qualified to corroborate. It has to do with relations between men and women.”
Gulliver furrowed his brow as the Queen continued her preamble.
“Apart from your pathetic size, there doesn’t seem to be any physical difference between your countrymen and our own subjects. Your race seems to practice marriage in much the same manner as we do, in accordance with the different needs endowed to men and women by nature.”
“Your Majesty apprehends correctly,” nodded Gulliver.
“And yet Elizabeth claims that the women of your land can and do enjoy the consummating act of love to the same degree as men do.”
“Why, yes, of course.”
The Queen appeared uncomfortable, shaking her head. “Preposterous. I put the matter to Mackovan, who scoffed. He said that in all the higher orders of creatures the male and the female are fundamentally distinct in this respect.”
“In fairness to your court wizard,” said Gulliver, warming to the debate, “there are many men in my country that would agree with him. They, of course, reject the Enlightenment and the modern discoveries of science.”
“Have you made any such discoveries yourself?”
“Back home I was more of a practitioner, but after everything I’ve encountered on this voyage I am not too modest to claim a discovery or two.”
“Very well,” said the Queen with the hint of a smirk, “how would you propose to investigate whether Elizabeth’s claim holds true for the women of this land?”
Gulliver was initially taken aback, but in the defense of Reason he could not be daunted. After a ponderous moment he said, “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I cannot imagine how I could conduct such an inquiry without physically examining the privates of such a woman.”
“Fortunately,” rejoined the Queen, “as my doctor there is no reason why you cannot examine my privates.”
Gulliver was struck dumb. He stared up into the Queen’s face, improbably hoping to see some sign that she was being unserious, but alas she was not.
“Y-Your Majesty,” he stammered, “that sort of examination is typically only performed for reasons of medical necessity.”
“I assure you, Doctor,” the Queen replied, standing up to an even more imperious height, “if the experiences that Elizabeth described might in fact be available to myself, then confirming this is of the utmost necessity.”
Gulliver was transfixed as he watched the Queen shuck off her elaborate dress with stunning alacrity; the many bindings and stays must have been unfastened before his arrival. As possessing as the sight of the Queen undressing before and over him was, part of his mind nevertheless puzzled over: “Experiences”? Plural?
When the Queen was no longer wearing anything but a short-sleeved chemise and stockings, she asked, “Are you prepared to examine me, Doctor?”
Gulliver swallowed. It’s just a quick anatomical inspection, he told himself. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said.
He struggled not to retreat as she leaned down to wrap her fingers around him, roughly pinning his arms to his sides. Standing straight, the Queen did little either to keep Gulliver upright or to minimize the lurching of her grasp.
The Queen repaired to a cushioned divan that lay against one wall of the drawing room. After stretching herself out, she used her free hand to hitch her chemise up about her waist, exposing her privates. She abruptly set Gulliver down between her legs, and he staggered to regain his footing.
The Queen raised her eyebrows in expectation as she looked down over her pendulous breasts and capacious abdomen at her little examiner. Looking at the Queen’s flabby thighs and thinning thatch of pubic hair, it was clearer than ever to Gulliver that, for all her regal glamour, the Queen was senior to him by at least two decades. This didn’t change the nature of the examination, but he did hope that it meant it would be briefer.
Gulliver stepped closer to the Queen’s privates and observed that her outer lips were so fleshy as to obscure the rest of her sensitive anatomy. He looked up to see that the Queen was rapt with anticipation. With a servile nod he asked, “Your Majesty, would you be so kind as to spread your…privates apart with your fingers here?”
There was a spark in the Queen’s eyes as she lowered her hand into her crotch and exposed her pink folds to Gulliver. He stepped even closer, trying not to visibly acknowledge the pungent odor. It took him less than half a minute to ascertain that the Queen’s private anatomy was, apart from the scale, not appreciably different from that of any woman he had ever so examined.
“As I suspected, Your Majesty,” he said, stepping back to meet her gaze, “Madam appears to possess the same faculty for carnal pleasure as do the women of my country. Here at the top I can see the necessary organ.”
“Where? I cannot see.”
“Does Your Majesty have a looking glass?”
Without withdrawing her hand from her crotch, the Queen twisted around to grab a hand mirror from the adjacent table, then swiveled back while Gulliver ducked to avoid her swinging thighs.
“Put it down behind me, Your Majesty, facing your privates.”
The Queen tilted her head in consternation at these directions but nevertheless complied. Gulliver leaned close to her, pointing at a slick protuberance. “There, Your Majesty. The medical term for this organ is the clitoris. It is analogous to the tip of the male member and provides a similar sensation when stimulated.”
Gulliver found himself addressing the reflection in the mirror of the Queen, who was quite fascinated with this novel view. At length she asked, “It is like the male member in that it is where I make water?”
“No, Your Majesty, that comes out down here, from this opening.” He had to get quite close to point out the royal urethra, so close that he feared that the Queen might accidentally let her privates close about him.
“But,” said the Queen, puzzled, “that is not where the King puts his staff, is it?”
“Correct, Your Majesty, that enters down here,” Gulliver replied, stepping to one side and pointing at the opening near his knees. He shuddered to imagine that particular congress from this proximity.
“So how is my…citoris supposed to be stimulated?”
“It is called the clitoris, Your Majesty, and it requires separate stimulation, either by the fingers, or by the tongue.”
“The tongue?” exclaimed the Queen. “How is the King supposed to reach down there with his tongue while we are in the act of love?”
Gulliver was too intimidated by his circumstances to laugh. “I would not presume to instruct the King,” he said didactically, “but if His Majesty were so inclined, prior to consummating love with Your Majesty, he might lower his head to your privates and stimulate Madam with his tongue.”
The Queen snorted. “I don’t find that very likely.”
“I admit it is not as common a practice as it should be in my own country, either, but it is known well enough.”
The Queen didn’t raise her eyes, but she seemed lost in her thoughts.
“If it pleases Your Majesty,” Gulliver ventured, “if the King is not…available, Madam might stimulate herself with her own fingers.”
That brought her back into focus. “What?” she said. “I’ve never heard of anything so unladylike.”
“Perhaps not, but I assure you the King has so stimulated himself several times, particularly when he was younger.”
The Queen raised her eyebrows. “You presume much for a newly-arrived guest in our court.”
“I am only trying to give Madam the benefit of my training and experience.”
There was a pause while the Queen favored Gulliver with a curious smile. “Tell me, Doctor Gulliver,” she said slowly, “are you yourself experienced in these methods of stimulation? Of a woman, I mean,” she added with a wink.
The direct personal question shook Gulliver’s professional demeanor for a moment, but the opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge was irresistible. “I am no libertine, Your Majesty,” he said, “but neither am I a monk. It seems plain to me that familiarity with such practices is a necessity for a happy marriage.”
“That would be wisdom, if all women were indeed capable of such pleasure.”
“I assure Your Majesty they are.”
“Very well, then,” she said resolutely, “show me.”
“I beg your par—Your Majesty’s pardon?”
“You will stimulate me until I experience this miracle for myself.”
Gulliver felt a chill in his chest. “What Your Majesty asks,” he said deliberately, “would dishonor both Elizabeth and your husband the King.”
“Nonsense. You are my doctor and I require you to educate me in matters regarding my health. In any event, I do not ask; I command.”
He dropped his gaze from the Queen’s stern countenance to her stretched-open cunt. In one moment, the anatomical curiosity became an animose creature, one that he was charged with both rousing and bridling.
Desperate for any excuse not to comply, Gulliver protested, “If I do as Your Majesty commands, I fear the contact with Madam’s privates will soil or even damage my clothes.”
“Then remove them. At once.”
Seeing there was to be no reprieve, he stripped himself bare. He looked back up into the Queen’s commanding face, made a fulsome and sincere bow, and said, “As Your Majesty wishes.”
The Queen placed a pillow down behind Gulliver so that she might prop up the mirror to view his activities. Then, with a mighty effort, she bent one knee and lifted her bare foot up to the divan and rested it next to and behind the pillow. Then she returned her hand to her groin and spread her privates open to him again.
Gulliver watched the masses of soft flesh heave and ripple around him in anticipation of his touch. He put on a brave and determined expression as the Queen’s face disappeared behind her abundant belly with his approach. Her thighs were more than twice as thick as he was tall, and he tried not to think about the powerful muscles that lay buried within them.
Standing before the Queen’s privates, her bulky outer lips loomed above and to either side of him. They were so massive that even were he the same size as the King, he would have required the Queen’s digital assistance in accessing her secret parts. Her soft hair surrounded and covered her lips, extending above his reach.
Gulliver spat into his palms, leaned his bare chest against the Queen’s pisshole, and reached up to take her clit like a potter at his wheel. He ran his (relatively) tiny but strong fingers around the base and pressed his hands down on its sensitive roots.
“Ooh!” exclaimed the Queen as she lurched briefly. “I feel strange, like a chill on my skin. Is that normal, Doctor?”
“Yes, quite,” he replied, hoping she could hear his voice from the depths of her alcove. He forged ahead with a twisting, squeezing pressure, taking advantage of the local lubrication. The only reaction he could discern from his vantage point was a slowing of the Queen’s respiration.
The Queen’s abdomen lurched again, and rather than risk being knocked off his feet and potentially caught underneath her buttocks or thighs, Gulliver mounted her privates by stepping one foot and then the other into the mouth of her womanhood, which reflexively clenched his ankles.
Taking this as the positive sign that it was, he fell into a pulling and stroking rhythm, coaxing her clit to emerge from the surrounding folds. As he expected, her fluids joined his sweat in coating his straining arms, shoulders and legs as he labored at his husbandry.
“Now I feel hot,” the Queen called down to him. “Are you sure I’m not sick?”
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” he replied keeping his attention on her pulsing knob.
“But I don’t think the King feels like this. He looks more…focused when he is pursuing his pleasure.” Her breaths seem to catch between her words.
“Men are generally more direct about this business, that is true,” explained Gulliver while trying to wipe his brow without interrupting his ministrations. “Women take longer to achieve it, but it lasts longer and can be repeated sooner.”
“Repeated?” gasped the Queen. “How? Why?”
“That is best kept between man and wife,” he said. “Now please, Madam, let me attend to my task.”
Gulliver was familiar enough with the scents of a woman’s arousal, but of course he had never been as immersed in them as he was then. His empirical detachment became less and less useful as he sought to match the cadence of his manipulations to the tides of her passions, which had taken on thermal and auditory dimensions. She clenched and rocked him some more, but he invested all his strength in his grip.
At last his own ardor seized him and he pressed his mouth to her clit, at first kissing and nuzzling it as one might a precious babe, then licking and nibbling it as if it were a heap of the sweetest confection. The Queen’s moans filtered down to him, more resonantly through the cavities and tissues of her body than through the clear air far removed from his ears.
This only served to secure her passions’ hold on him and to spur him to disregard his fatigue. He gasped when he realized that his own staff had risen to the occasion and that he was thrusting it against the Queen, whom he hoped was too distracted to notice his little prick.
Then the Queen emitted a grunt louder than a thunderclap, followed by her mighty thighs closing together with a rush, plunging Gulliver into a world consisting only of darkness, pressure, and heat. Her fingers ceased to hold her nethers apart but instead descended upon his shoulders, shoving him waist-deep into her cunt while finally breaking his embrace of her clit.
The walls of flesh quivered and shuddered about him, opening barely enough to permit him to take few badly-needed breaths. The Queen’s fingers withdrew, but her grip on his legs remained, so when she finally opened her thighs he could only lie back and rest his arms, still locked above his head.
With a soft “Oooh…” the Queen released her bladder, flushing her privates and inundating her spent physician. She released his legs at the same time, and Gulliver scrambled to evade the worst of the deluge, but in truth he too needing rinsing.
When the Queen returned to herself, she looked down at Gulliver with a smile of wonder.
“I’m sorry ever to have doubted you, Doctor,” she beamed. “The women of your country are truly blessed.”
“As Your Majesty can now attest,” he said, wiping his eyes, “nature’s blessings are everyone’s to enjoy.”
“Not everyone has such a knowledgeable doctor to educate them.”
“That will change in time,” replied Gulliver pompously.
The Queen just grinned and reached down to grab the dripping little man and return him to the low table, followed by his clothes which had mostly escaped the flood. Shaking her head at her own soiled chemise, the Queen bellowed, “Pelletrine! Come here at once!”
The drawing room door opened immediately, and Gulliver grabbed his breeches and ducked behind the teapot to protect his modesty as Lady Pelletrine entered briskly. “Help me change,” said the Queen curtly.
Restoring the Queen’s appearance was a laborious task requiring one’s full attention, but Gulliver was certain that Pelletrine noted his every move as he tried to surreptitiously retrieve and don the rest of his clothes. At length, both he and the Queen were once again presentable according to their respective stations. The Queen then bad Pelletrine to sit.
“Well?” prompted the lady-in-waiting.
The Queen inhaled deeply. “It turns out that Elizabeth spoke truly,” she admitted with an impish smile.
“That was my supposition from the beginning,” nodded Pelletrine, “but your vocalizations confirmed it.”
The Queen put her hand to her mouth in momentary scandal, then she and Pelletrine shared a raucous laugh. Gulliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other and waited as unobtrusively as he could.
“Was it a complicated procedure?” asked Pelletrine silkily.
The Queen hesitated. “No,” she said. “Not once the territory had been properly surveyed. The looking glass was a great help.”
Pelletrine nodded again. “But how can we be certain all women can have such pleasures? Might Your Majesty be unique among women of our country?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” the Queen replied, genuinely perplexed. “That is a concern, I grant you.”
The Queen pondered this some more while Pelletrine studied Gulliver out of the corner of her eye.
“I suppose the only way to be certain,” said the Queen finally, “would be to have Doctor Gulliver instruct a broad sample of women in these techniques and observe their responses.”
“That seems both methodical and prudent, Your Majesty,” said Pelletrine. “I will draw up a schedule of all the women of the court.”
From the triumph in her voice, Gulliver had no doubt whose name would be at the top of the queue.
Author’s Note
I have been conjuring variations of this scenario ever since I first saw The 3 Worlds of Gulliver as a boy, but the above is definitely the 2021 edition. There have been many influences on this story, but surely the strongest and most well-written is Voyages of a Mile-High Fille de Joie by Judith Johnson Sherwin.
El Amante Menguante 