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The conference was a waste of time and the small town hotel not up to much. I had planned to spend the evening working on my MBA thesis. But the internet connection in my room wasn’t working. Fed up I drifted out into what passed for a High Street. After a couple of pubs, each with two old men and a dog, I was about to give up. Then I heard music. Down a side street I found the Rose and Crown. It looked a bit of a dive. But the doorman sensed a customer and said “Grab a granny night. Only two fifty before ten thirty, mate.”
“Are there many in?” I asked, sceptical.
“Yeah it’s packed,” he said and pushed open the door to show me. He was right and I paid my money. A dive it was with sticky carpets, stained walls, dim lights and warm beer. But I had no better ideas so I bought a pint and listlessly cased the joint. The crowd was what you’d expect, dole fodder guys and scrubbers with too much make up and no dress sense.
But I had timed it right. The DJ put on some old Motown. He knew his audience and the sound system was good. The floor filled up and my foot started to tap. I became aware of a group of women eying me up and giggling. I tried to ignore them but soon one of them came over. I was aware of heavy mascara, a very short black leather skirt and laddered tights. “Me mate fancies you,” she said, beckoning towards her group.
“Oh come on. Try another one,” I said bored.
She gave me a bit more banter but soon switched her sights to a group of three guys propping up the bar. I thought nothing more of it until it was my turn to go to the bar for a refill. One of those guys stood next to me. “You on your own? Come on over and join us,” he said. He sounded sincere and it seemed churlish to refuse so I did.
I soon realised why he’d asked. There were four women and three guys. The other guys were busy making out and didn’t want to have to buy drinks for a spare bird. She moved her handbag off the cheap green vinyl bench. I accepted the invitation and sat next to her. In their eyes she must have been the least attractive. Certainly she was the least tarty. She wore very little make up, her hair was natural, dark brown, long and wavy and she had a nice smile with full rosy lips and white even teeth. Three plus points already. But she was more than plump and the wrong side of thirty, wearing a white top and a simple cotton print skirt. But I wasn’t looking to pull and she wasn’t trying to cadge drinks. Rather she was good company, lively and chatty.
It seemed I had known Mary for a long time. Then the DJ dimmed the lights and put on The Brand New Heavies “You’ve Got a Friend.” She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I love this song.” I don’t remember asking her to dance. It just happened. She was a surprisingly good dancer, light on her feet for a big girl and with a natural rhythm. She was taller than I had first thought and as the singer crooned about finding a friend in times of trouble our eyes met naturally. Hers were brown with flecks of green, natural lashes and a suggestive sparkle. Despite my glasses she said my grey pair were beautiful. Untrue but flattering and flattery gets you everywhere as she well knew. I put my arm round her shoulder and felt the warmth and ampleness of her. “It’s all right. I won’t break, Steve,” she said and eased closer. My other arm slipped round her and we started to smooch. Now that’s not something I make a habit of with a chubby, thirty something woman. After all I have never been short of lissom, young female companions. Marketing managers of a successful boutique chain rarely are.
Actually she didn’t feel bad at all. Her top was thin and my right hand discovered that her body was warm but not sweaty. She had a roly poly waist but her flesh was yielding. There wasn’t much underwear to get in the way and she seemed to like the pressure of my exploring fingers. Meanwhile my left hand explored her hair. She had used a nice apple scented shampoo and liked to be stroked and caressed, snuggling against my body as I did so.
Mary’s hands were those çubuk escort of a country girl. She had been born on a farm and had spent the last few years working in the local vegetable packing factory. They were big and practical but she used conditioner and they were surprisingly gentle and sensually appreciating. I’m not handsome but I’m tallish, lean and I like to think fit and she seemed to enjoy the hardness of my shoulders, belly and chest.
We only had one dance that night before all hell broke lose near the door. The three guys got into a fight with a rival group. The bouncers and then the cops piled in. The DJ pulled the plug and Mary went to look for her workmates. They were nowhere to be seen.
“How are you getting home?” I asked, looking along the deserted High Street for a taxi.
“Walk I suppose,” she sighed.
“Is it far? This looks a bit iffy to me. Those head bangers could still be hanging around. I’d better come with you.”
She didn’t argue but gave me a sweet, trusting look. “If we cut across the allotments it is not too far,” she said and led the way. She was in no hurry and neither was I. It was a warm May night and peaceful away from the main road and streetlights. I felt the tension from the fight ebbing out of us both. The allotments were disused and it was also lonely. We might have been only twenty miles from Sheffield but out there it was like being in another world and time. Clouds scudded across the moon in the strengthening wind creating moments of pale yellow light and spooky shadows of trees interspersed with intervals of total darkness.
Protectively I touched her hand and she stopped, took mine in between both of hers, half turning towards me. Surprised and not sure if this suggested flattering trust or rural naivety I asked her, “Aren’t you scared? I mean, I could do anything to you out here.”
She considered for a minute then said “Yeah maybe. But it is nice to feel a strong man near me again.” She didn’t elaborate and I wasn’t inclined to pry into her past. So we ambled on arm in arm. Her broad hip rubbing against mine was pleasant. But the going wasn’t. There were a lot of brambles, nettles and roots hidden in the undergrowth and overhanging tree branches to scratch the unwary in the pitch dark intervals.
A twig gave me a sharp scratch on the cheek and I swore. There was genuine concern in Mary’s voice as she asked, “Are you OK, Steve?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, “Just a scratch.” But she still felt obliged to kiss my injured cheek better. I took her face in my hands gently. Her complexion was a little weather beaten but I liked the warm flush that came to her cheeks as my eyes looked into hers and my mouth approached her lips slowly, asking for permission.
She gave it. Her lips were full and warm and tasted slightly of the rum and coke she had been drinking. Despite her size there was nothing rough or clumsy about her kissing and our mouths melted together. She rationed me to just her lips, no tongues, but it was still exciting and I felt a stiffness in my trousers. So did Mary and it made her draw back and carry on towards the safety of home.
When we came to the barbed wire fence I climbed over easily and walked on then realised she wasn’t behind me. “Help me, Paul,” I heard her say in a small, embarrassed voice.
Her skirt had caught on the wire. The moon chose that moment to go behind a cloud and I could only squat beside her and fumble in the dark. I found her skirt, waist high and caught next to her thigh. I freed it successfully but I needed to be careful not to tear it. As a result my face was inside for long enough to catch her warm, female scent. I succumbed to temptation and gave her thigh a little stroke, with my fingertips on the outside at first. It was so big, but bare, astonishingly firm, warm, and smooth; womanly and comforting. I had to curl my whole hand round and caressed the inside, fingers pointing up, seeking.
Mary didn’t flinch and said nothing but the wind suddenly died demetevler escort away and I heard her breathing quicken. Not certain what that portended I stepped back. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I shouldn’t take advantage.”
The moon shed new light. Suddenly I was looking at her sweeties at close range. They were cute, lacy, fresh, and white, far too small and let her big, flushed, pink fanny lips peep around them. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered and buried my face in her panties, swaying her hips and moving her shaved mound and vulva around my nose and mouth. She smelt of lavender fabric softener and the buttery beginnings of arousal.
I couldn’t get my hands in; she was holding my face so tight and her bum was tight against a fence post. So I eased her panties aside with my teeth and licked. A triangular fold of skin at the front of her pussy seemed to give her particular pleasure. Each time I moved away from it she would whisper in a husky voice “Go left,” or “Go right,” until I found the G spot again. It had the sweetest taste and eventually I concentrated there licking round the edge then flicking my tongue between the folds. This seemed to drive her crazy. She grabbed my hair and ruffled it affectionately as well as slowly gyrating her hips. Finally her clit hood curled back and a pink button popped out. The first touch was so sensitive that she let out a long low moan. The sound of her pleasure was so horny that I had to take my own cock out before it split my trousers. She knew what I was doing and released me.
The moon goddess was on our side that night. When I looked around gasping for air her pale yellow illuminated an old greenhouse. By telepathy we agreed to go inside and the moon goddess stayed to watch. Gently I unzipped her skirt and peeled down her damp panties. She flopped down onto a pile of old sacks and spread herself wide, breathing quickly and urging me to hurry.
Her long deeply furrowed pussy might as well have had a sign on it saying “Emergency entrance”. But I took my time. First I carefully hung her discarded clothes over a tomato plant before undressing in front of her. I wanted to enjoy her frank interest as she lay in the moonlight looking up. She took in my well muscled, slightly hairy chest, firm biceps and trim waist and glowed with excitement. By the time I put my thumbs in the elastic of my underpants her tongue was hanging out. Still I teased her dancing like a gigolo as I stripped my briefs off. She was so desperate she moved her hand between her legs to release her own need. At that I lay assertively on top of her and replaced fingers with cock. She wrapped her thighs around me as I gently began exploring her pussy. It was too snug to have ever given birth and the slippery, flexible walls were in exciting contrast to my rock hardness and pulsating glands. Her muscles held me possessively and stopped me going all the way in straight away.
I thought she wanted to savour this. That was fine by me. I needed time to adjust to the sensation of riding a woman whose belly was like a roller coaster and whose bum and thighs were so thick that I was almost kneeling to rest my calves on the ground. But we did adjust and found a lovely slow rhythm. My nuzzling kisses on her neck were met with long, slow sweeps of her fingertips down my spine. The feeling was one of incredible contentment.
But nature wanted out and I became more urgent, thrusting harder and faster and raising myself into a press up position to get more leverage to penetrate her deeper. She knew I was about to cum and hissed, “No, Steve, no babies,” and pushed me decisively up and out.
My manhood deflated and I guessed that was it. Then frustration took over. I felt I had been led on and for a few seconds I was angry. I felt my power and wanted to dive back down on her and show her who was boss.
It was one of those moments that could have gone either way; to jail for rape or to bliss later. I can’t explain it except to say that I have never forced myself ankara escort on a woman. I was brought up that way. If they let me know they want it I get turned on and am happy to oblige but…. . As the chill night air hit me reason returned and I had to admit to myself that I hadn’t thought about contraception but just assumed that she was protected as she had come on so strong.
Still angry, but by now as much with myself for getting into a beginners mess, as with her I snatched up my clothes and started to dress. I finished without glancing at her and got to the doorway. But I didn’t stomp out. There was something about her that I still liked and respected despite what she had just done and I didn’t want things to end this way.
She was sitting on an old pink plastic stool looking at me. Her expression told me that she was trying to read my body language to guess what was coming next. She took a deep, audible breath and shook out her hair. The wild look of fear left her eyes and she said quietly, “Thanks, Steve.”
Then to show that she sympathised with my disappointment she lifted her top. She had saved the best till last!
I suppose I had assumed that a big girl’s bra would be formidable. Actually, it was snow white and almost sheer. There were no wires and the elastic outlined her big breasts as nature made them. They sagged a bit but her nipples were huge and dark, standing up and thrusting. The effect was pure elemental woman. I gasped and stood still in front of her.
She misunderstood my surprise for revulsion. “Nobody likes my boobs,” she said resignedly dropping her bunched top back down.
“Mary, that’s crazy. They’re beautiful,” I murmured softly and reached for her. Her bra was so thin I could feel all the warmth of her. I popped one breast out for more but she flinched. “I’m sorry, darling,” was all she could say then, after a pause, she added. “It’s me. I’m not used to them being touched. Just go slowly, Steve.”
It was a learning experience for both of us. Never have I experienced anything so full of the promise of womanhood as that half hour kneeling in front of her fondling, cupping kissing and licking those two beauties.
But inevitably my attention turned again to my throbbing cock. She knew it and, quite relaxed now, took my hands and lifted, prompting me to stand up. Sheer instinct took my cock to her cleavage and she folded the softness of her breasts round it.
There she froze. The feeling was nice for a moment. But the friction was irritating as I tried to slide up and down. By now the night wasn’t very warm. She hadn’t been sweating and her cleavage was dry. She didn’t seem to know what to do. I eased out, reached into her pussy and took two fingerfuls of her thick, milky cum. Slowly I spread her breasts apart and lubricated her. She giggled and said, “So that’s how it’s done.”
I realised that she was a boob virgin. But I replaced my cock and guided her with my hands until she was ululating her melons up and down and round and round my shaft. The sensation was more intense than any pussy. I throbbed like a pneumatic drill and I could see my own tip peeping out of the top of her valley, purple and the crack half open like a serpent’s mouth. Several times I almost burst but held on. Her eyes were rolling, two fingers were deep in her own pussy and she was literally panting.
I wanted us to climax together and oh my God did we! I felt a shiver begin to run through her whole body, I let myself off the leash; she emitted a long low cry “Yesssssssssss,” and I drowned her in sperm.
It took nearly an hour of holding and cuddling before the glow she described in her belly subsided and her jellied legs had regained the strength to carry her home. I too was shattered and it took a good ten minutes to make the 100 metres to her back gate. But I didn’t care. I never wanted the night to end.
Before saying goodnight she confessed “That was my first orgasm, Steve.”
“And my first BBW,” I replied.
“Now I know what all the fuss is about,” we said in unison, laughing with the relief of a barrier crossed.
The night receptionist at the hotel gave me a suspicious look when I wandered in at 4.30am, assuredly smelling of sex. But I didn’t care. I knew that next time I was in the area I wouldn’t be staying at the Mount Pleasant.
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