Disclaimer: If you are under 18 or otherwise legally restricted from viewing material of an erotic nature GO AWAY! If you are offended by sexually explicit material why are you here in the first place?
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Another evening, I await her pleasure, knowing as always the torture that stalks my night. She swirls in, pendulous breasts swaying freely under her long night gown, her belly and hips stretching the folds from the fabric of her gown, jiggling with every foot fall.
From my position kneeling on the floor I see each ripple as it courses up the stippled bulk of her thighs, the dark patch of her pussy hidden between the mass of her upper thighs and the overhang of her belly. With an audible sigh she settles herself into the chair across from where I kneel, legs uncrossed, though it is not easy for her to cross them anyway.
In the extended moments as she settles my mind drifts through idle thoughts, how once I would've considered her massive body repulsive, how even now her physicality is not at all a turn on for me, but still I serve. I know she has finished working a twelve hour shift, calling me and telling me to be at her home before she arrives. She will be sweaty, with the particular sharp and sour odour that only comes from trapped moisture and rubbing skin.
Even as I think of it, the smell, the salty taste, the feel of the soft billowy flesh against my face, my erection begins to grow. A complete conundrum, I don't want to use my mouth for her demands, but cannot resist it. No magic, no mind control, just the way she demands service as though there was never an option to refuse, and my sense of degradation as I perform for her.
It started very differently, a drunken night and a bar pickup. On my own and pretty ruined this fat woman with non-descript brown hair and eyes started a conversation with me. No Romeo myself, and weighing in at more than my fair share of beef, I don't get a lot of chances, and so I went along with it.
What the hell, any port in a storm you might say. Needless to say we went back to her place, and I fucked her. There are many euphemisms for having sexual intercourse, but slamming your cock into someone for your own pleasure, without regards for them in any way doesn't match any of them.
When I finished I rolled out of her arms, went to the bathroom, pissed, returned and began to gather my clothes. She looked at me leaving without a word, a silent accusation hanging in the air.
About a week later, hornier than hell, I went back to the bar. Consciously, I had no real intention of looking for her, but I guess in the back of my mind I hoped she was there so I could do her again. Naturally, sitting alone in a bar, no one to talk to you drink a little more than you might otherwise, so by the time she walked in I was somewhat worse for wear.
She nodded as she saw me, and then went to sit down the bar some distance away. She wasn't coming to me it seemed, and I was damned if I was going to her. Or that was the plan for the next two drinks. Eventually it seemed to me that I should just go over and say hi, maybe make some small talk and test the winds. I saw her half smile as I got up to walk over, but she didn't have one as I sat down.
We chatted idly, me making charming (or so it seemed to my drunken self), her somewhat cold and stony. In the end she said I had treated her badly, and she wasn't that interested in carrying on a conversation with me.
I explained that I had been drunk, and after "making love" to her (if your going to be a liar you might as well lie BIG), I didn't feel good and had to get home before I was sick. Obviously, in retrospect and from a sober perspective, this was probably not the ideal tact to take, but it seemed brilliant and believable a dozen or so beers into the evening. Still she gave me another of those half smiles and said she understood, but that she felt the whole thing had been purely for me, and that no one enjoys being used.
Seeing an opportunity to maybe get what I was looking for I said I'd like the chance to make it up to her, any way she wanted. She looked at me speculatively, before nodding. "OK, we'll see how you stack up."
We got into her car, me not able to drive anyway, and went back to her home. The drive there was quiet, every time I tried to move or speak I was shut down, "Sit still," she'd bark, or "Be quiet, I'm concentrating." By the time we reached her place I was pretty much sulking, beer and effrontery making me morose.
Getting out of the car I snapped something to the extent of "about time". She whirled around on me face hard, voice like glacial runoff "You've got your cell phone, call a cab and get the fuck out of here!" I stopped, opened my mouth to answer her only to choke on my own words as she stepped towards me, her voice lowering menacingly "Not a fucking word, not one. You have one chance, you can either nod yes or shake your head no. Do you understand me?" she continued moving towards me, I stepped back from her and nodded, a strange cold sensation rippling down my back. "Good," she smiled, a feral grin with nothing of mirth in it, "Now, are you here to make it up to me or are you leaving?"
I was stunned, the snap of her voice the way she looked at me, the whole situation seeming unreal. Under her sharp gaze I felt almost like a rabbit going tharn, pinned by the oncoming headlights unable to move. "Make it up to you." I said, dropping my eyes and feeling a warm flush creep up my cheeks. She turned without a word and walked to her door, keys rattling as she went. I followed, quietly, an odd sort of anticipation churning my insides. This was not what I was expecting from the evening, something was going on here I wasn't sure I understood, but it was having an impact on me.
As we went inside I removed my shoes on the doormat, and turning, almost ran into her. She looked at me, then down, and said, "Well?" as she lifted her foot about six inches off the ground. I looked at her, not sure what she was expecting, then it dawned on me. She was waiting for me to remove her shoes for her. "Well...", she said again, sharper.
