Weight Room Title Bar

Countersplurge Part II

Chapter 4 blow-out at the Palace

It made sense to make Inn on the Sea my temporary base until the Center was up and running. Arpul got Government to grant the premises for the Center on a peppercorn rent, provided we fixed the Center up to the approval of the Palace (which meant getting a Soda Fountain for Arpul). Jell-O got things moving on the building front and I ordered up the gear we needed for start up. I planned to move in within six weeks and for the Center to open after eight.

While Ilsa and Hiccu ministered to me at Inn on the Sea, we fought a long drawn out war over my body size and wardrobe. I was at a disadvantage on two fronts. First, bathroom scales are unknown in Dolores. "Vee vould break all ze Goddam scales" declared Ilsa, rippling all her walnut burred stretchmarks with chesty laughter that ended in a coughing fit.

Only industrial scales exist, at the wharf and down at the airport. Second, there are so many dressmakers and tailors, continually running up bespoke new clothing (for me: mainly shorts, tie blouses and Tee shirts), that you never exactly know what dress sizes you've gotten in to. Hiccu loved to play games by laying out a pair of white shorts from a couple of weeks back then he'd roll around chortling as I struggled with them half on, wondering why they wouldn't button round my middle.

I suppose honours were about even, The Inn undoubtedly won the weight war: I blew up to what I estimate was maybe 250 to 260 pounds long term. On the other hand, I managed to keep stashing the weight gain where I could see it gave the most enjoyment:: bust, upper arms, ass, hips and thighs, and belly, keeping all in proportion and reasonably firm.

I did this by long walks along the beach. I enjoyed these most at sunrise, the sand squishing between my toes. When my body flowed around me, unconstrained by clothing, I was aware of all my flesh in gentle motion. I could get high by feeling my thighs creaming past one another and my buttocks roll, heave and swing in a steady slow rhythm. I could feel the slight swags of my stomach jiggle and, looking down, watch my breasts bouncing several wobbles out of synch with the swing of my hips. To early morning diggers for bait, I became a familiar figure, holding my plumpening arms out and either pirouetting and jumping, or caressing my breasts and burgeoning hips as I executed slow leaps.

,Arpul fixed for me to call on his Minister the week after I arrived. It was also a chance to explore the Palace and satisfy my curiosity by checking out what Arpul had told me. Far from the Disney stereotype white marble and gilt job, it was just a vast single story sprawl of rusting corrugated tin and palm thatched roofs over mud walls, all of it in need of repair. It was arranged as a warren of courtyards, eventually giving way to water gardens extending away across the back to the low lying, higher density, poorer parts of town across the isthmus.

The Ministry buildings opened off the first great open courtyard behind the Strand. This is where the Mayfest takes place, Arpul explained. We crossed the sunbaked expanse of courtyard, and just after 11 am, passed through a doorway and along a rear verandah. The Minister's room was large with deep wide armchairs around the walls, all filled with waiting corpulent bodies, some dozing. He was, Arpul explained, considering a petition from a large lady about a disputed food processing concession, when he cut her off and welcomed me in English. "You are far too thin for Dolores, Aunty Sam," he joked, "you need sustenance."

All listened attentively. He wished me well, promising every assistance for the Center, provided we brought in the latest ideas - especially in catering. I quipped that only the biggest and best satisfied Aunty Sam and he laughed uproariously. "Then we understand one another" he said.

Before leaving I asked him if he really was Arpul's brother. He looked in surprise at Arpul and they spoke in Dolorean; then he said "though we have the same father, we have different mothers." The room buzzed with interest. I thanked him and we made our farewells. As we left the building, I caught glimpses, through office doorways, of large bodies draped snoozing over lines of desks, with Cokes and jumbo boxes of Kellogs Crunchy Nut flakes ready beside them, should they want for refreshment.

"Can I see where you live now?" I asked.

"Of course," said Arpul and led me through a labyrinth of courtyards till we reached the verandah of a simple palm thatched mud hut in a small mud baked yard planted with paw paws and plantains. He slipped off his shoes, lifted a bead curtain and I followed him in barefoot. Once my eyes adjusted to the interior, I could see it was bare, but the floor and walls were soft and cool, sweeping around in sculpted curves. "This is Shlubber" he said sitting down in a curved recess, "it is all we need, we don't use beds or furniture". I sat also and lay back, it felt soothing. I noted a shelf of just six books, a computer and a hanging rail of clothes. "Where do you wash and go to the bathroom?" "Outside, just around the corner, we all share. Often, when we Doloreans get so big, we have to help one another. We like it like that - in fact it is sexy for us", I saw him blush maroon.

We heard women's laughter carrying from another courtyard.

"Ah, that reminds me, I have to tell you. Do you know, that first day at the airport, you made an enemy?"

"I guess I know who", I said, "that fat cow with the grounded backside who pointed me out to her ass licking minder."

"She is called Queen Philippa and she speaks a lot about it. She is very powerful, but she doesn't like you at all. She says she caught you laughing behind her back. All Americans are the same, she says. You do need to treat her carefully"

"Thanks for the warning Arpul."

The laughter carried into the room again.

"They will be eating now," he said, "would you like to join with them?"

We walked around the corner, he pointed to showers, hosepipes and a white china Asian style squat latrine set in the open beside the wall as we passed.

Three women and a young man, all naked, save for strings of tiny cowries, were eating in a shady corner of the next court. Great cooking pots were ranged alongside on the verandah. "Meet my other aunty," Arpul said gesturing to the group with his hand. The truly vast woman, who I judged to be in her late forties, lay back in the shlubber, her belly flowing around her. The young man, also globular, attended to her, feeding her with his hands. What held my attention were the size of his genitalia, his scrotum was maybe eighteen inches across. His cock, also proportionally enlarged, was adorned with a string of cowries twisted around the flaccid penis flesh. But his legs and arms were short, thick, muscled and powerful. We shook hands, the younger women bumping into one another in shy delight at welcoming a foreigner. While we had to bend right over to greet the older woman, the young man swung himself around and knelt up (his scrotum now compressed on the floor under his belly like a volley ball) to shake our hands. None could speak English.

Arpul said they wanted us to sit and share their food; it was nothing special, they were only snacking at this time, the big meal would be in the evening. My God! We how we blew out, lying back on the shlubber. The two young women circulated plate after plate of deliciously spiced stew (meat and fish and small crabs all mixed together and stewed slowly) heaped over mounds of rice. Hunks of water melon followed and we each drank about a gallon of Shlum through the meal.

We slept just where we sat or lay afterwards. It is one of the most sensuous memories I have of those early days in Dolores. We sprawled across the soft shlubber, groaning and sighing, our bellies full and hard, looking up into the sun dappled trees. Arpul lent across and massaged the appalling dome of my belly until I began murmuring with pleasure, conscious of delicious stimulations displacing my acute discomfort. The two girls curled together, insensible, their arms draped into one another's intimate feminine parts. The older woman fell asleep snoring, after toying playfully with the cowrie rings around her adonis's cock. I wondered how "prick tease" might translate into Dolorean.

We awoke after four o'clock, washed under the tap around the corner and left the others still stretched out snoring.

"Well she is sort of my aunty," Arpul explained, "but who knows if she really is. She sent me to school. The young boy, Folo is, I think you say, her Toyboy. Many older ladies like to do this, they adopt young boys, then strengthen them up through their pubescence."

"So what about his giant dick?"

"Ah! You noticed."

" Idiot, of course I noticed" - I realized the irony too late.

"She strengthened that too, by enlarging it with shlubber grease and by hanging weights. They are both very proud of it."

"So why did you go to school and he become a toyboy?"

He grinned and said "When I grew too tall, she sent me out to school and found Folo. instead"

Chapter 5 Angelia

Being one of the prime social centers in Dolores Town, people-watching at The Inn on the Sea beach bar and pool became a favourite pastime of mine. Everyday there were extraordinary sights to be seen. Bodies, blown out like decorative plaited Viennese loaves on greasy baking trays, were beached around the pool, snacking continually. Others floated in the pool, low blobs of jell-O, hanging below the water line. I played the games Sis had invented for me when she was tiny. When she was about 4 she had delighted in loudly pointing out fat ladies in tight dresses. "Butt Watch", coming later, was more sophisticated. You had to try to guess the personality of someone from the way their ass wiggled as they walked. We used to argue over whether the face or the butt told more of the truth about a person.

This is how I first spotted Jelia. In a group of four giggling overgrown schoolgirls she stood out. Quite simply she displayed the biggest projecting butt way out back of her I have ever seen, without any sign of droop. She wore a one piece black bathing costume, and her body described a kind of proud exaggerated S shape, high bust, protruding belly and then the unbelievable curve of that great rear end. I was star struck! I watched every move of their afternoon's play, a cycle of drinks, snacks, and preening one another's bodies, then the puppylike romps that always ended with shrieks and great splashes into the pool. She was a powerful swimmer, like a sleek seal, her eyes sparkling in a round plump face when she surfaced gulping for air. But the girls only came maybe three afternoons in five through the week.

One afternoon I stood right behind her queuing for the soda fountain. I was taller by perhaps three inches and looked down on the round flow of her shoulders. But most of all I was conscious of the extraordinary outsweeping from the small of her back. Wow! It seemed like perhaps 8 or 9 inches of projection. I leant my belly forward, as close as I dare, to visit the soft cleft of space between the cheeks of her astonishing butt. The narrow valley felt charged with fields of magnetic force. The sides of her costume arced up high up to either side, allowing the flanks of her hips to flare away out. I just ached to touch her as she loaded up with floats to carry back for the girls. I watched her swaying away, back to her friends. I guessed there were at least 280 pounds of her, in delicious quivering motion.

I thought about her later that night and on subsequent nights as I caressed myself before sleep. I imagined my hips stacked way out like that, flaunting them, how I would command the space around me, tracing the flow of flesh with my fingertips.

Then I saw her in town, at the Time Bookshop, late morning, waiting in line to be served. She was dressed simply in a light white cotton little girl frock with a tiny faded blue floral pattern, bleached from wash days out in the sun. It was truly astonishing how the seams of that dress held. Her upper arms bulged away from under tight little short puff sleeves to flow over the insides of her elbows as she absent mindedly swung a book around rhythmically, forward and back, in a quarter circle. I came in closer. She was flicking the backs of her calves back repeatedly in rhythm with the swinging of her arms, and a most delicious bouncing jiggle plumpled across every part of her round soft body. No pantie line, I noted, as I observed the dress almost at the point of giving way with the fabric straining into horizontal creases between the two lobes of quivering flesh across the great divide in her butt at maximum projection. The hem was riding up to reveal stretchmarked backs of jiggling plump thighs bulging over her twitching calves. She wore the simple flip flops she used at the pool.

I homed in on the book she was about to buy: "The Internet for Dummies", it gave me my chat up line. "Stay in the real world, kid!" I said, quoting the survey I'd read which reported that the more time people spent on the Internet, the more depressed they got. Now I could take in the front of her dress. Her stomach, still jiggling, bulged out into a pouch of its own making, low in the light dress fabric. No bra! Her boobs were held in by the tight sewing of the dress under the bodice. But they escaped upwards, mounding over the low bleached cotton neckline and a tiny silver chain traced across the contours before plunging into her cleavage. I wanted to do the same

She told me she had been doing a College computer course.

We walked out the shop together as she explained that she was writing away for jobs abroad, Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines - wherever.

"How's about a stop-over in McDonald's on the Strand?"

"Ooh I'd love to" She didn't have enough money to go into McDonald's very often, she told me.

She is eighteen, called Angelia, Jellia for short she says, and lives at home. Her dad is a clerk for one of the Lebanese business families. When I told her I'd noticed her at the pool with her friends she said yes, they'd seen me watching them. Of course she knew all about me: you're the American here to open the new library.

We lingered talking and I offered to fetch more food. "Oh no! I'm way too fat already. They all laugh at us Doloreans overseas. I've got to lose pounds before I go abroad, especially off my huge backside, they even joke about it here."

"Oh no!" I exclaimed involuntarily, "its so wonderful."

She blushed maroon under that golden skin.

And that's how I hired Jellia.

"If you came to work with me you could stay just as you are. I'm looking for a Girl Friday, are you interested".

She was beside herself with delight and readily agreed to more burgers. I stayed with her some of the way but four apple pies, and three shakes later I had to drop behind.

We stumbled out of the air conditioning around four o'clock. Out in the afternoon heat, she gasped, held on to her stomach and squealed.

"Wow that feels just Gross! Just wait till the girls at the pool see".

I carried her bag for her and dawdled as she definitely had to waddle around the creek towards the pool, continuing to massage her stomach and chuckle with happiness.

At the head of the creek, the Gut Busters paused in their gluttonising to whistle as we passed and yelled comments after us. Jellia pushed her rump right out in exaggeratedly laviscious hip rolling movements and drew great guffaws in response.

"What did they say?", I asked.

"I cannot possibly translate that . . " she said, ". . there are not the right words in English."

"I think I know," I laughed, and I saw her once again blush deeply.

Continuing on towards the pool, I pointed out the verandah of the Center across the creek, then launched into an all or nothing proposition. "I'm moving in next week. It is an enormous flat, do you fancy sharing with me; living over the job?"

Chapter 6 measuring games

So I got to live close-up with my wide goddess. I envisaged roughing it at first but Jellia had it organized within a matter of days. The 10 ft wide verandah ran around all four sides and everything save ablutions and our private rooms, she arranged for on the verandah, shielded from the sun and prying eyes with hanging reed screens.

Jelia and her minimalist improvisations cast a sensuous calm spell upon the verandah, whatever the time, day or night. So it was inevitable that we should quickly become intimate. It sparked from buxom bodies bouncing against one another early one morning in the shower. Jelia had just showered and was standing, lovingly oiling every fold and flow of her flesh, watching herself in the mirror. Stepping out of the hot spray, blind and off balance with my wet hair like a curtain over my face, my flank bounced on her giant rubbery butt. I fell against the wall opposite and, as a reflex to steady myself, grabbed a large armful of Jelia, still warm from her shower. She squealed with the shock of the watery drips as my hair brushed her. Savouring her delicious roll of love handles, I wrapped my remaining arm around a matching pair on the other side and felt those great glorious globes press into my wet lower belly. She leant back into me, her vast ass compressing me into the wall.

My head alongside hers, I looked into in the mirror and our eyes met long and lustfully. She turned her head to nuzzle me rather as a horse does. After that she turned and we folded our oiled wet bodies into one another, sensuously exploring, testing, and caressing. Then somehow we slid down onto the warm watery floor. My mouth had become hyperactive so, holding my head like a coconut between her hands, she worked my promiscuous tongue across the front of her body. She positioned me on each of her already erect nipples, jacking them further into wrinkled tightness. She sustained them by working me between her aureole, ensuring that my mouth appreciate her super soft contours to the full. Then she used all of my lower face to vigorously Hoover her belly folds, causing me to gasp for air. My lips worked downwards till she pushed me lower still in between her thighs and up under her belly.

The juices were already flowing from her impatiently open pussy. I settled in, spreading my arms far around her upper thighs, and seriously attacked her clit with my tongue. Further down I felt her find her way into my groin with her toe. Back up at this end, I felt the blood inflating the lips of her vagina and her ever stiffening clit. Tantalizingly I curled my tongue around into a slower rhythm until I deliberately brought her to teeter on the very brink of ecstasy. We savoured to the full, deliciously extended moments of suspended time, until we could hold out no longer. The rubbery luscious sensations overwhelmed us, blasting us into a myriad of flashing stars, of gushing torrents and explosive gasps and shrieks. We subsided into a shuddering calm, drawing out the very last sensations of the intimacy between us, still interlaced absurdly down upon the flooded cement floor of that crude Polynesian bathroom.

We stirred, I heaved her up and we moved, still interlaced, out onto the verandah and settled down onto one of our sleeping mattresses laid out on the floor. Now she became the active one and knelt beside me. She massaged my out-stretched body, from my head over my breasts to my groin, then she slid one knee across me and applied herself to kissing and sucking my pussy. Oh wow!

But there was far more. Now her great ass overhung my face, and my whole existence, indeed the whole universe, was filled by that amazing blubbery butt. I somehow bent upwards and worked my tongue up in between her anus and her luscious pussy. She settled back onto my face and we went underwater swimming together, rolling and writhing for what seemed like an eternity.

She eventually slowly surfaced then turned around to face me, settling her mighty ass back across my chest. I was pinned utterly and uselessly. She grinned, looking down over her billowing front to me, and murmured: "You had all this planned, didn't you, naughty, naughty Aunty Sam?" Since I was powerless to answer, her bush stuffing my mouth, she then added "And now, as you can see, I've done my little bit of planning too. If a girl has assets she should use them." And with that, her colossal ass ground me deeper into the mattress, easing very gently from side to side, as the oiled cheeks worked up over my face.

We were disgracefully late downstairs for work that day, flushed and very obviously incoherent. We had to adjourn late morning back upstairs, ravenously hungry, to demolish the breakfast we'd skipped in our passion. We sat together, holding each other all over, as we fed one another paw paw and pineapple pieces and gulped down great hunks of local bread dipped in Shlum.

There followed idyllic days. Pushing our sleeping mattresses together on the verandah , we lost ourselves with more underwater swimming in one another's bodies, through the warm nights. We interspersed love with lazy snacking and snoozing. We would breakfast watching the sun rise, jostle one another for the shower and at 7.15 or so bustle down the stair to the Center in our clean white work clothes, our hair still wet.

I would hear Jelia heavily climbing the stairs for her midmorning snack and again to fix lunch in the verandah kitchen for 1.o'clock - salads, yogurt, fruit. With Jell-O, the three of us would laze together in the shade sipping Jello-O's never ending supply of iced Cokes until 3.30 or so. After a couple of hours work downstairs, Jell-O would drive us in the Cherokee around to the Inn pool at about 5.30 for an evening's socializing.

Jellia and I would roll back along the Strand a bit unsteady and rather full at about 9.o'clock. It was sometimes a little difficult to get her back home, the Shlum would either make her somnolent and I would keep having to wobble her great hips into motion or she would be in exhibitionist mood, wriggling them seductively and performing a kind of dance of the seven veils with her beach wrap. Fortunately the Strand would be fairly empty by that time.

The Gut Busters were the obstacle I dreaded when getting her home. She did so love rising to their taunts. The Butt Gutsers, she called them, and gestured lewdly to them, swiveling those great ass cheeks tantalizingly just beyond their reach. I studiously ignored them when they started calling after me what they fancied doing to Aunty Sam.

"You'll have to catch me first Blubberlumps" I'd reply stuffily, and they'd call back "Don't worry, we'll catch up with you one of these days, sugar".

Fat chance! With their vast paunches, they could scarcely pull themselves from one end of the snack counter to the other.

Not that our own waistbands stayed too slimline. Those early weeks of deliciously relaxed verandah living blew us out. I found out by noticing how increasingly difficult it was to wriggle past Jellia in and out of the shower. Her butt jutted out further and further. She really had no inhibitions, she could go on piling the blubber up until her ass exploded. Cupping my hands, I showed her in the mirror where her ass was beginning to sag and also how her belly was beginning to ride lower and roll over. Her response was to thrust her great naked butt back hard into my lower belly, I was so totally winded, I couldn't speak.

"You can talk!" she said, "Look at yourself, your waist is gone" and she wobbled my three spare tires violently with her hands. Oh Shit! It was true, I was losing it.

I insisted on measuring her. Reckoning she had chugged herself out with Shlum to 330 pounds or so, I wrestled with her and found she was 50 bust, 42 waist and no less than 58 hips. Her thighs were 32 inches, her upper arms 28.

She stuck her nose in the air, flouncing about the verandah with indignation, jiggling deliciously all over. She tussled with me again, trying to snatch the tape, till I eventually let her do me: 46, 38, 48. Shocked as I was at my new size, I knelt and grabbed her round the hips and stuck my nose into her beautiful soft belly and said "You are just so gross! I love you to pieces."

Jellia just adored me playing with her fat. She loved lying across me with me paddling her ass cheeks gently and us both then checking out the jiggle time, me from outside by watching, she from inside by feel.

Descending to work one morning, disaster hit. Jelia was just behind me at the head of the stair when she collapsed heavily on top of me; her weight had gone clean through the wooden step. There we sat till Jell-O arrived. He declared she was now way too big to be safe on such a rickety stair. They both said it was embarrassing to humiliate dignified Doloreans with stairs. So she was marooned upstairs for three days while Jell-O got the old slow internal goods hoist going from the days when the building had been a warehouse. The folding gates were too stiff for us plumper ladies to manipulate so Jell-O had them taken off. The whole 8 foot square contraption became a beautiful white painted elevator room, complete with Shlum stocked fridge and sofa, where Jelia would recline in stately slow moving style.

After the stair-breaking weight gain, I insisted on reviving the tennis court to keep us trim. There began a late afternoon tennis ritual which saw us go to the pool less frequently. Jell-O, Arpul, Jelia and I took to playing doubles and they especially enjoyed the regular pause for drinks (Shlum) at the net between games. We looked a million dollars in our white tennis kit. Jelia affected ridiculously short stick out tennis dresses, because they were just so outrageous, I stuck to my shorts (literally), they rode up into my crack in back while splitting apart under my belly at the front whenever I moved about the court. Arpul transformed himself from a pear into a great fat beobab tree on court. He mastered the art of not moving, choosing to root himself in a strategic place and somehow managed to reach out and get everything back. Jell-O kept springing about, swinging his great stomach and bouncing his shirt higher and higher to lodge under his roll of male tit fat. Sometimes tennis just degenerated into us hitting the ball at bits of one another and laughing helplessly as we watched the fat bounce, then we would ascend in the goods elevator for a feed and more Shlum on the verandah.

The word got around about my tennis court and more and more plumpers rolled up to pose about in newly acquired stylish sportswear. I thought this good for the Center once it got going, but forbade apres-tennis partying on my verandah, I needed to keep it just as Jelia's and my private space. I got Jell-O to post a notice saying it would not bear the weight. Then I suggested he get the adjacent outhouse fixed as an alternative. He blew his top. He said the target date for the Center's opening had already slipped, and just what were my priorities?

"OK, OK, keep your belly button on! " I said, "Yeah Jell-O. Maybe, just this once you're right." I conceded, punting him in the paunch.

He snorted.

That is when I had my inspiration about the Soda fountain which Arpul was continuing to nag me about.

"Arpul," I wheedled, "do you fancy operating the Soda fountain as a Franchise, that is a private business, between you yourself and the Center?"

"You mean like Colonel Sanders and Burger King in the States?"

"Exactly so!"

Arpul sorted it inside a week. He called it the Shluppa Fountain, with sturdy seats arranged around the old fountain. He also got the adjacent outhouse cleaned out and operating as a venue for the apres tennis. He installed Marcus, a hugely fat guy in his early twenties, to run it. I was unsure about this bit, he looked too much like one of Jelia's Butt Gutsers.

"All the kids do at that age" said Arpul, but I was not wholly convinced.

Hiccu came around whenever possible during his time off from the Inn and became our best tennis player. Jelia also initiated him into computers and he learnt quickly, getting onto the Net and keeping us amused by posting bizarre printouts. My disquiet about Marcus and his likely Gut Buster links were reinforced when Hiccu took up with him, forever grappling with him, practicing Sumo moves.

We planned the Center opening night carefully. Arpul's minister got the Prince Regent to agree to perform the Opening Ceremony and the Protocol section announced that no fewer than seven Queens would be in attendance. On our side, Carlo would represent the US and I wanted to show my thanks by inviting all who had helped me. Arpul had us arrange the formal opening for five o'clock, followed by a buffet then a dance in the floodlit courtyard. He and Jell-O organized the buffet, centered on the Shluppa Fountain and hired a top band for the music. Jelia and I dispatched invites and planned our ball dresses.

Jelia had me measured and fitted for a gold dress, showing my shoulders and cleavage, with a low back and full length slit pencil skirt.

I felt svelte and good in mine as I practiced sashaying up and down the verandah, but Jelia's got me gasping.

It was a show stopper. I had chosen peacock blue silk for her and ordered a backless low cut bodice with the lightest of shoulder straps. The piece de resistance was a double cleavage, deep at the front over her great breasts and a deep cleavage again behind, plunging down between her cheeks into her crease. Her skirt began by running around and under her extraordinary butt projection, then flared away in folds to sweep along the ground in rear. To either side, I had it slit thigh-high.

"You don't think its too . well..," she said, sideways on in front of the full length mirror, smoothing the skirt over her belly and hips. "You are fabulous! Its got me wet just looking at you Jelia," I moved close, running a hand down each thrillingly endless cleavage. "You're edible" I whispered, nuzzling her neck.

I taught her the slow strut I had evolved for my old African swimsuit, and she looked amazing from the rear. She always did hold herself up and back to balance the bulk of her full breasts. Powerful sleek swimmer's shoulders rounded into her soft flowing upper arms, which widened and creased, then dimpled where they drooped to conceal her elbows. She had the most delicious folds and rolls running off her back, above her hips, to disappear under her arms into her breast fat. Like a melting hazelnut ice cream sundae, the upper slopes of her butt creamed up and over the low curving butt line of her dress, accenting the fullness of her rear cleavage. I was mesmerized by the complex flows of that great glorious ass as she practiced my walk. She seemed to have an upper and a lower pair of soft globular cheeks in full liquid motion.

I couldn't stop myself, I came, twitching and groaning. She swished across and settling beside me, stroked my back gently. I can tell you like my dress, she murmured.

To be continued