She woke me with her mouth, a skill she had truly mastered. When I patted her big hip, knowing what she liked by now, she scooted around. I had my arms straight up over my head when she got her legs over them and then scooted forward. I moved my arms out so she could sit back, trapping them between her calves and thighs, right behind her knee.
I LOVED this view. She had put on enough weight that her ass and pussy merged into one long slit, the fat of her ass blending into the fat of her labia, surrounded by the soft, hanging wattles of skin at the tops of her thighs. When I kissed her, the scent told me she had leaked both ways. So I kissed and licked again, deeper, enjoying ALL of her scents and tastes.
By now I knew her body well enough that I brought her quickly to orgasm, drinking her release, and using my mouth to give her a second and third orgasm right away.
I squeezed and jiggled her hips, about all I could reach the way I was pinned, and she giggled, bringing me along very slowly.
When I came she coughed and peed a little, making me cough in reply. I licked, not minding the bitter, salty taste at all as she sucked the final tiny drops from me.
Finally, I could feel her relax and then start to straighten to release me.
I latched on to the fat pads of her pussy making her giggle. When she finally pulled away my mouth released her with an audible pop.
She moved slowly, awkward and lumbering with her weight, but finally managed to lay beside me, her fingertips soft on my cheek, smiling.
"God I love you," she said softly.
"And I love you, too," I said. "Tonight you get the greatest gift I can give you. You will be the queen of the dance."
She smiled, that weird predatory combination of smile and grin that was starting to seem natural on her.
"You make me happy, David," she said.
"Good," I smiled
"one more night,"
I thought.
I made that day a Doris Day and we both giggled when I told her that. I bathed and tended her. I fed her, starting with a half dozen Egg McMuffins and those little hockey puck hash brown patties. For lunch I took her to the restaurant, dressed in her most revealing outfit. For dinner, it was the buffet at the Chinese restaurant we liked. We ate early because I wanted to get to the dance early and it started at 7:00.
Then it was a half hour in the tub and almost an hour in the chair in front of her little makeup desk while I did her hair and face. I did her nails too, fingers and toes.
I am very good at that stuff and she was looking as good as she ever did. Hell, she actually was kind of pretty in that way of some fat women.
I laid out her sexiest outfit and helped her into it. In that short skirt, the dark part of the tops of her nylons peeking out with each step, about six inches of cleavage on display, and those high heels doing good things for her legs and her walk, she looked pretty damn good.
We got to the dance right at 6:30, just as I had planned. The band was setting up and I selected a table two down from Victoria's usual one. I seated Doris at the head of the table, smiling down at her.
"Don't be nervous," I said, "this is YOUR house now."
I went and talked to the band's frontman. We had chatted before. I admired his guitar licks and he appreciated a knowledgeable audience.
Then it was back to the table to see what the night would bring.
Rene was the first in, she looked around and came to join us.
Well, not exactly the first. A few other couples had come in and the place was starting to fill.
But of what I thought of as our "group," Rene was first.
I was surprised not at all when Dan and Phyllis were next in. Well, actually, it took a moment for me to recognize them. He was looking dapper in slacks, a button-down Oxford cloth shirt, and an inch-wide tie that would have been at home around the neck of a Jet or a Shark from
West Side Story
. She had on a very tight blouse, I wondered if it had been hanging in the back of her closet for a decade or if it was new for the occasion, a very short skirt showing off good legs well enhanced by the spike heels she wore, and a swollen bruise on her face.
I grinned and stood as they approached the table. "Looking sharp," I said, including both of them.
Our table, well, Doris's table, filled quickly. I watched, taking it all in, as a couple of devout followers joined Victoria at her table.
The band started promptly at 7:00 and as I had requested, the first song was a passable cover of Bobby Vinton's
Blue Velvet
. I stood and walked directly to Victoria's table.
"Victoria," I said, very formally, "we've met but in case you've forgotten, I'm David," and I held out my hand.
Her face was interesting as she worked through emotions. She was angry and interested and flattered and it all showed.
Finally, she took my hand and shook it, one of those loose-fingered shakes that women of a certain station do. It pissed me off but, of course, I kept my smile up.
"I know who you are, David," she said and I actually liked her voice. It was deep for a woman, coarse, almost gravelly. Think Peri Gilpin who played Roz on
Frasier
or June Allyson from any of a dozen movies in the 1950s.
Anyway, it was a voice I liked and I wondered for an instant if I had fucked up on that first night. But, well, here I was, about to drive the final nail into her coffin so I figured no use in crying over spilled milk.
"Come on, beautiful," I said, "let's dance."
That surprised her and I enjoyed the big-eyed look I drew.
"Come on," I said again, very aware that all eyes around the table were on us, "I make a point to dance with the prettiest girl in the place."
"I thought that was Doris," she said with something approaching a sneer, or maybe a snarl, on her face.
"Oh," I said, flashing my best boyish grin, "we both know that was always bullshit, don't we."
That brought a smile and damn but the woman had a good smile. Ivory teeth against her red lips made a good contrast, but mostly it was her eyes. A tracery of laugh lines, call them crows feet if you want, ran from the corners of her eyes almost to her ears giving her face a truly interesting look.
She stood, accepted my hand, and said, "well, okay then."
She really was a striking woman. Tall, almost regal with that great mane of silver-grey hair, her dark eyes under heavy brows, that hawk beak of a nose combined into a, well, the word IS "striking," package. I could see why she had been the Prom Queen and head cheerleader. And I could imagine the hell she had put Doris through over the years.
Ahhhhh, small-town living, God love it.
All of which made what I was about to do all that much more interesting.
The band had just gone into another 1960s thing, something I didn't recognize. It opened with "Cupid, draw back your bow." Anyway, it had a strong beat and she turned out to be a good dancer.
"You've lost, you know," I said, almost conversationally.
She looked legitimately confused when she said, "lost what?"
I chuckled and said, "It's Doris's house now," I said.
"Oh, that'll pass," she said.
"Did you notice Phyllis's face when she came in?" I asked and that stopped her. She missed a step.
"What about it?" she asked.
I grinned and said, "Vickie," deliberately shortening her name and enjoying the flash of her anger when I did it, "once a woman submits to that there's no coming back."
When she didn't say anything I asked, "do you know about Darla's little playground?"
Her silence and the look on her face were answer enough.
"Vickie," I said, and there was that flash of anger again, "this is your last chance. Doris wants to isolate you, to fucking SHUN you, but I've persuaded her to hold off on that. But you had better get your skinny ass over there and make nice or I'll let her."
The song ended and another started up, this time I recognized Elvis Presley's
I Can't Help Falling in Love
, and couldn't help but chuckle. It seemed fitting.
"Come on," I said, "she'd love to have you sit at her left although, if I'm being honest, I think she'd rather isolate you."
