For as long as I can remember being interested in the opposite sex, I've been a BBW lover, a chubby chaser. Curvy girls are my weak spot - big boobs, butts and bellies. As a long time bachelor, I've been able to indulge my passion for BBWs. This story is true. The names and some of the places have changed, but the hot sexy plumper action is recounted here exactly as I remember it...
I pulled up outside the bed and breakfast at dusk. The carpark was empty. It was late September, the tail end of the Irish summer and the nights on the Atlantic coast were getting cooler. It was a cute building made of dark grey stone, an old mill or storehouse in a previous life. Thick ivy spread across its front, snaking around the windows and the big black door that bore the B&B's name - Grá Homestead.
I took my bag from the trunk of the hire car and turned the brass doorknob to enter the B&B. There was a cosy little reception area, with overstuffed chairs and antique furniture, very tastefully done. A small counter lay ahead, clustered with the usual tourist brochures, and guest book you expect in such places. But there was no one behind the desk.
I put down my bag and leaned on the counter. I looked at the bell on the counter top, but decided against ringing it. My parents had run a motel when I was a kid growing up in Queensland and I'd grown to hate the tinkle of the bell that signalled another guest wanting something.
The place had a woman's touch with dried flower arrangements and a haunting woman's voice in Gaelic playing low on the Bose speaker on the sideboard. I stood for a while, soaking in the surroundings. Still no one came. The door at the back of the office was slightly ajar. I cleared my throat, still nothing. Okay, there was nothing left to do. I tapped my finger down on the bell. Around 30 seconds later, I could feel the vibration of feet descending stairs. The woman swung the door back and rushed into the office.
"I'm so sorry, how long were you there?"
My breath caught in my throat. She was stunning. The first thing I noticed was the crack between her great big milky tits which was eventually obscured by a low-cut blue singlet, a single red bra strap visible over the curve of her ample left breast. She had curly dirty blonde hair and a broad attractive face with a slightly upturned nose that I instantly loved. Her dimpled cheeks were flushed with patches of red.
"Just a minute or two," I said.
"Oh good, I though you were probably having dinner in town so was expecting you a bit later." She sounded a little out of breath, nervous even.
She approached the counter. She was panting slightly from her hurried descent down the stairs. But she also looked a little clammy, the ringlets of her hair matted, a sheen of moisture on her brow. I was already aroused.
"I got caught up with work so didn't -"
I stopped. Now I could smell her. Her scent seemed to have filled the poky office. It wafted over the counter top like a warm thick wave. It was the musky, heady scent of wet pussy. Mixed in was a hint of sweat and a faint trace of perfume. But the source of that blissful aroma was unmistakeable. My cock started to swell in my pants.
She looked up at me, wide blue eyes blinking and I immediately imagined her upstairs, in her small rustic bedroom, her jeans around her ankles, fingers of one hand working her hairy golden pussy while she squeezed a big pink nipple with the other.
I could see the outline of those thick nipples now as she leaned over the counter to fill out a registration form for me, creating a ledge of glorious soft flesh I struggled to draw my eyes from.
"I mean, I thought I'd be here earlier," I stammered.
"No trouble," she grinned at me, finishing with the form and turning around to open a drawer.
"I'll just get your key. I'm putting you in the cottage, beautiful spot, normally put the honeymooners there."
She had a firm but curvy ass, a hint of pale waistline showing above her jeans and just the tip of green Celtic insignia protruding from her top, suggesting the culturally appropriate tramp stamp that must snake across her lower back. The head of my cock strained against my pants and pressed up hard against the counter sending a jolt through me.
She fumbled through the keys, then knocked two off their hooks. With a sigh she bent over to retrieve them and in doing so confirmed what my nose had told me. There was a dark wet patch in the gusset of her jeans. How wet must she have been?
