Extra important content notice:
The following chapter contains a conversation in which a woman says she had sex with an adult man when she was a minor.
This experience is not described in detail, and the inclusion of this conversation is necessary for character development. It is not intended for erotic purposes.
Regular content notice:
The following story contains depictions of negative body image, weight stigma, and diet talk.
I've done my best to portray these issues with empathy and sensitivity. Beauty comes in every size, and a joyous, fulfilling sex life is the privilege of anyone who wants one.
That said, if you're someone who prefers to avoid such things altogether, you might try one of my other stories instead.
The characters depicted in the following story are all 18 or above. One of the themes involves sexual liaisons between young adult women and much older adults in a position of relative power over them.
The inclusion of this theme is for storytelling purposes only. It is not a comment on the advisability of such relationships in real life.
The Author
~
M.U.F.F., Part VIII
Tonight is my first date with one of Christopher's friends where I have the whole routine worked out and implemented from step one.
His name is Jack. I've been with him before. He's tall, fat, very dark-complected, handsome in a dour sort of way. He dresses nicely; his clothes hide salt and pepper body hair and a thick cock.
He greets me at the door of the hotel room. I come in, see that the envelope is on the table waiting for me. I politely tell him to take a shower. He disrobes in front of me, taking amusement in being watched.
While he's in the bathroom, I hurry out to my car with the envelope. I count the cash--$150.
I'm $150 per hour. In theory, $150 per person per hour, though I haven't explored that option yet and I don't know that I will.
I reserve the right to raise my price to $200 if they want something... special.
I hurry back inside and strip down to my underwear. Subconsciously, or maybe consciously, I've dressed like Darla--from the jeans and the blouse to the high-waisted panties and bralette underneath.
Tomorrow is my shopping date with Alex. I thought about holding off on anymore fuck dates until then, but I found myself wondering what difference it would make.
I'm sitting on the bed. Condoms, gloves, and dams are laid out next to me like crown jewels on velvet. Jack comes out, wet and panhandled. He seems delighted to see my collection of treasures.
What he wants is a little weird. Not special rate weird, but weird enough that I'm almost uncomfortable.
He asks me to lie still upon the bed. Not like a pillow princess--like I was dumped there, sprawled on my back, limbs in all directions. Limp, unresponsive.
Again, it's weird, but I do as he says.
I watch through my eyelashes as he crawls onto the bed next to me, distorting its surface with his weight, his massive erection protruding far beyond his round belly.
He starts taking my underthings off. I move to help him, but he puts a hand on me, reminding me to stay in character. I go limp again. After some effort, he has me naked.
He sets about examining my immobile body, curious, like a science experiment, touching me from head to toe, squeezing every roll of fat, prodding every orifice, from my nostrils to my asshole.
(Wearing gloves, of course. I've instituted an across-the-board barrier rule, and I'm not about to abandon it for the sake of theater.)
He takes a deep sniff of my pussy. I'm a little surprised by how wet I am inside--I can be sure he's getting plenty of my natural fragrance.
He lays a dam across my holes, giving it a little pat to ensure that it sticks. It sends little tendrils of electricity through me.
Then he gets his mouth involved.
First, my cheek--not kissing it, so much as covering it and sucking the flesh. My cheeks are chubby like a chipmunk's--there's a lot for him to grab onto. It's a strange, wet, squirmy feeling.
He moves on to the fat under my chin, then my upper arms. He takes my wrist and raises my arm to get at the underside, and seems to take particular pleasure in licking the sweat from my stubbly armpits.
The whole time, I alternate between wanting to groan from how gross the sensation is, how strangely he's behaving, and wanting to squeal with laughter from how much this tickles. I remain still and silent.
His tongue follows the roll from my underarm to my tit, of which he gathers an impressive amount into his mouth. It's wet and oppressively humid in there. His tongue swirls the bulk of me.
Merficully, he doesn't seem very interested in the nipple. I would scream for sure.
He does the other tit and moves onto my belly, lewdly probing my navel.
He takes my legs under my knees and raises them, spreading them apart.
Instead of going for my pussy or my asshole, he twists me this way and that, getting my hips and belly to bunch up in various ways. He sucks the rolls, tonguing the folds, and I think I finally get the game.
He runs his tongue all over the bottoms of my asscheeks, the backs of my thighs, cleans the sweat from the backs of my knees, suckles my calves, fellates each foot in its entirety, then one toe at a time.
At one point, a not quite suppressed giggle leaks out of me. He pulls my toe from his mouth, linked to him by a string of thick, mucusy spit.
"So, you're awake now," he says, playfully.
"Yes," I mock-whimper.
"If you're not going to be unconscious, you'd better lie real still and pretend."
I nod, then go back to "sleep."
He follows the inside of my leg, back up towards my crotch, but skips the best parts of me in favor of my pubic mound. He presses his lips into the pad of fat, making it distort under the pressure.
He seems to take great pleasure in rubbing his tongue against the lay of my short, razory pubic hair.
He passes my pussy by way of my inner thigh--I almost laugh again--and finds his way in between my asscheeks.
He gets my legs up in the air, getting me good and spread out, and puts his mouth over my asshole. Through the latex, I feel the flat of his tongue pushing against it.
I feel the strangest sensation, and I realize he's sucking on my asshole, delighting in the involuntary trembling of my allegedly limp legs.
Then he does a commendable job of eating my pussy. He takes a gourmand's delight in tasting every inch of the latex, prodding every part of my vulva, sampling its mouthfeel.
Despite myself, I feel myself headed towards orgasm. As he tongues me insistently in short, heavy strokes, just under my clitoris, I give myself over to it. Soon, it becomes impossible to stay immobilized.
I have to admit, replaying the last several minutes in my head, every fat-fetishizing, oral-fixating moment of it, is getting me there with much more urgency than I ever expected.
It's not that I'm completely okay with it, or that it's something that I ever wanted.
But, I have to admit, it's doing something for me--being reduced to an object of sexual amusement for someone else's benefit, being viewed as a vessel purely for aesthetic pleasures and physical sensations.
After he's satisfied himself with his living fantasy, we do the usual. I suck his cock for a while--my mouth can barely contain the massive head of it. I spit and slobber; he licks the saliva from my chin.
He wants to see my asshole gaping; I show it to him. He asks to sniff it while it's open. I let him, and he avails himself of a deep inhale. I feel the slow exhale of uninhibited bliss on my bare behind.
He fucks me, comes, ditches the condom. I put on a grand display of jilling off (I don't fake it, but I ham it up), he gets hard again, he fucks me some more, doesn't come, so he jerks off on my tits.
It's not the most usual way to get laid. But hell, he's a sweet guy, and his cock feels good. I'll never say no to a booking with him.
I ask him if he'd like to clean up his semen with his mouth. Even as I say it, I'm aware that his cock is half-soft, and the clock is nearing our time of farewell. Oddly, I feel a twinge of regret.
"Keep it," he says. "I'd love it if you put your clothes on and drove home with my spunk on you."
"I think I will," I say. I gather a fingertip full of the stuff and make a show of suckling it. He gives me a look like he's in love.
I grab my shirt, electing to pack my bra in my bag.
While we're getting dressed, he says, "I'm throwing a party in about a month. I was wondering if you'd be interested in providing entertainment."
I raise my eyebrows. "What kind of party? And what kind of entertainment?"
