Derek slammed the door of his small apartment behind him Friday evening, heart still racing like he’d run a marathon. He dropped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling, mind replaying every filthy second of Stiles’s office. Those massive tits spilling out of her sheer blouse, the way her fat ass had strained against that slutty latex skirt, her glossy pink lips smirking like she owned his soul already.

“Fuck… fake marriage?” he muttered, running a hand through his messy black hair. “To the devil herself.”

But then the reality hit. Promotion. Senior Architect. Corner office. Fat salary jump. All for signing a piece of paper. And more than that… legally, she’d be his wife. Derek Hale’s wife. The untouchable ice queen who scolded him for breathing wrong would belong to him on paper. 

A slow, dark grin spread across his handsome face. “Yeah… this is my chance to tame the devil.”

He jumped up, grabbed his wallet, and headed out. First stop: the high-end men’s boutique in the city. He needed a proper suit for Monday—no, a tux. Something sharp enough to stand next to the most beautiful woman he has ever seen without looking like her employee.

Two hours later he walked out with a tailored black tuxedo that hugged his tall, muscled frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, thick biceps, narrow waist, powerful thighs—the salesman had whistled low when he stepped out of the fitting room. “Sir, you look like you could model for this.”

Derek smirked in the mirror. Good. Let her see what she just bought herself.

Next thought hit him hard: rings. No way in hell Stiles would think about something as basic as wedding bands. She was too busy being the perfect, cold General Manager. He detoured to a luxury jewellery store, the kind where the lights made everything sparkle like stars.

He picked out two simple but elegant platinum bands—thick, masculine for him, delicate and feminine for her. They felt heavy, expensive, real. His savings took a brutal hit, but he didn’t care.

Then his eyes drifted to the engagement ring section. Sparkling diamonds in every cut and size. Unnecessary, he told himself. This is fake. Just paper. But something twisted in his gut. It felt right. Made it more believable. Made her look claimed.

He pointed at a stunning solitaire diamond ring—brilliant cut, set in platinum, elegant but flashy enough to scream “taken.” The salesgirl smiled knowingly. “For your fiancée? She’s a lucky woman.”

Derek just nodded, paid, and left with his bank account crying. Worth it.

Monday morning arrived too fast. Derek stood outside City Hall at 11:02 a.m., heart pounding, dressed in the crisp black tux. The jacket stretched across his muscled chest, pants hugging his thick thighs and the noticeable bulge at his crotch. He looked every inch the handsome groom.

Then he saw her.

Stiles stepped out of her matte-black Bentley like a goddess descending. She wore a stunning white bridal dress—short, slutty, and completely inappropriate for a civil ceremony, but so fucking her. The dress was tight white satin that clung to every curve like a second skin. The neckline plunged deep between her massive, heavy tits, pushing them up and together into an obscene amount of creamy white cleavage. The fabric was so thin her fat pink nipples were faintly visible, already stiff from the cool air. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, riding up dangerously on her thick, juicy ass and showing off her long legs in sheer white stockings and sky-high white stilettos. Her porcelain skin glowed, pink lips painted a soft bridal pink, long black hair styled in loose waves cascading down her back. She looked like pure sin in white—beautiful, expensive, and ready to be fucked.

Derek stopped breathing for a full five seconds. His cock thickened instantly in his pants. Holy shit. She’s even hotter like this.

Stiles glanced at her watch and her perfectly arched brow furrowed in annoyance. “You’re two minutes late, Derek Hale. I told you 11:00 sharp. Do you always waste my time?”

He blinked, snapping out of it. God, this woman won’t change even on her fake wedding day.

“Sorry, Ms. Stiles— I mean… Stiles,” he corrected quickly, voice a little rough. “Traffic.”

She rolled her eyes, massive tits jiggling with the motion. “Excuses. Let’s get this over with.”

Inside the quiet civil office, the official greeted them with a polite smile. They sat at the desk, papers spread out. Stiles signed first—her signature sharp and confident. Derek followed, his hand steady despite the storm in his chest.

As they finished, the official nodded warmly. “You may now exchange rings.”

Stiles stiffened visibly. She hadn’t brought anything. Of course she hadn’t.

Derek reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the small velvet box. He opened it, revealing the two platinum bands and the sparkling diamond engagement ring.

Stiles’s eyes widened for a split second. “What’s this?”

He took her left hand—her skin soft and warm despite the ice in her glare—and slid the diamond engagement ring onto her ring finger first. It fit perfectly, the stone catching the light and looking obscene against her porcelain skin.

Stiles stared at it, lips parting. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“It makes it more believable,” Derek replied smoothly, voice low. “No one gets married without an engagement ring. Smile, wife.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t pull her hand away. The ring looked stunning on her—expensive, claiming, perfect.

Then Derek slid the wedding band into her ring finger, now lying along with the diamond ring. 

Then he took the other platinum wedding band and held it out. “Your turn.”

Stiles took the matching band with a huff and slid it onto his finger, her touch surprisingly gentle for once. The metal felt cool and heavy.

The official beamed. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Hale. You are now legally married. You may kiss the bride.”

Both of them stiffened.

Derek’s heart slammed against his ribs. Stiles’s pink lips pressed into a thin line.

“We… can do that later,” Derek said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

The official shook his head, smiling but firm. “No, no. It’s tradition. Even for civil ceremonies. A proper kiss, please.”

Stiles’s jaw tightened, anger flashing in her eyes, but she leaned in quickly and gave Derek the tiniest peck on the lips—barely a brush, cold and mechanical.

The official chuckled. “That’s not a kiss. Come on, you two look like you’re in love. Make it real.”

Stiles’s cheeks flushed with irritation. This is getting ridiculous. But she needed those papers signed. She leaned in again, this time pressing her glossy pink lips to Derek’s more firmly.

Derek stiffened for half a second… then his hand shot up, cupping the back of her neck, and he pulled her closer. He kissed her deep—hungry, wet, and filthy. His tongue pushed past her lips, claiming her mouth like he’d wanted to since the moment he walked into her office. He tasted her—sweet lip gloss, expensive perfume, pure arrogant woman—and he devoured her. The kiss turned sloppy, tongues sliding, lips smacking softly. Stiles made a tiny surprised sound in her throat but didn’t pull away. Her massive tits pressed against his hard chest, nipples stiffening through the thin white satin.

They kissed until they were both flushed and breathless, lips swollen, breathing ragged. When they finally broke apart, a thin string of saliva connected their mouths for a second before breaking.

The official clapped. “Now that’s a kiss! Beautiful.”

Stiles wiped her lips with the back of her hand, glaring daggers at Derek, but her thighs pressed together subtly, that fat pink pussy suddenly feeling warm and slick under the short bridal dress.

The official grabbed a camera. “Now, some wedding photos for your records and memories. Stand together. Smile. Closer… yes. Now kiss again for this pose.”

They posed stiffly at first—arm around waist, her hand on his chest. But the official kept directing. “Kiss! Look happy! You’re newlyweds!”

Derek pulled Stiles close again, his big hand resting dangerously low on her fat ass, squeezing just enough to make her gasp into his mouth. They kissed again—deeper this time, tongues tangling hungrily while the camera clicked. Her heavy breasts squished against him, her ass filling his palm perfectly. Derek’s cock was rock hard, pressing against her thigh through his tux pants. Stiles felt it and her pink nipples ached, but she stayed in character, kissing him like she hated how good it felt.

Finally, the official lowered the camera. “You two are such a beautiful couple. The chemistry is incredible. Wait outside for a few minutes—I’ll print the photos and bring your official marriage registration documents.”

They nodded and stepped out into the quiet hallway.

Stiles crossed her arms under her massive tits, pushing them up even more obscenely. “This is all so much work. Ughhhhh. Pictures, kissing, rings… ridiculous.”

Derek stayed silent, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. That kiss was still burning on his mouth. The way she’d melted against him for those few seconds. The taste of her. He was already imagining bending his new “wife” over the nearest surface and showing her exactly who was in charge now.

A few minutes later the official returned, beaming, with a folder of glossy photos and the stamped marriage papers.

“Congratulations again, Mr. and Mrs. Hale! Here are your documents. You’re officially husband and wife. Take care of each other.”

Stiles snatched the folder, lips pursed. “Thank you.”

Derek took his copy, sliding it into his jacket. “Thank you.”