Scx
03-13-2009, 03:20 AM
~BBW (Mult), Sex
An unfinished tale (aren't they all?) where the fat women are the villians. Sort of. sex described in greasy detail, the usual... Scx
The Fortune of H.W.P.M-S IV
by ~Scx
A potboiler of a tale which has been put up for adoption due to a severe case of writer's block. Any adoptive authors please apply.
My name is Harcourt Winston Philip Marshall-Stone IV. There. And nobody calls me “Harry” – Well, they didn’t, they didn’t used to...
Let me start at the beginning. My great grandpa, the first H.W.P.M-S, made a fortune in railroads and shipping, and left it to all his descendants on the stern benediction that the eldest son always be named after him, and that son should take the most extreme of care to insure the fortune, and the family line, lasted forever.
So there I was. I was only 24 when my father, H.W.P.M-S III, after having divorced my mother, crashed his airplane into the Atlantic one evening. Only pieces of the plane were ever found. My grandfather had only passed on a few years earlier, and suddenly I was in charge of the family fortune.
So I had to find a suitable wife as soon as possible. That’s where the trouble started. It isn’t very difficult to get introductions to eligible debutantes when you’re a Marshall-Stone in this town, but the ones I was being introduced to were useless! All the ones of classy enough family and sufficient income were obnoxious and ugly, and all the acceptable ones physically were just not of acceptable family for a Marshall-Stone.
I had retreated, after a particularly taxing ball to my favourite den in my favourite club, where I was nursing a large glass of excellent brandy and glumly staring into the fire, and staring into a grim future with some harridan in the house. Oh, if I had only known then what I know now!
Actually, I was probably nursing several large glasses of the excellent brandy at this club. I had been sitting and staring at the fire for some time, and it was quite late, when one of the cleaning staff came in. She... Oh, she was Mexican, dressed only in a simple maid’s uniform, but she had thick soft hair, and lips that looked just made for kissing. And she had a magnificent bustline. Her breasts were vast, but pointed and firm, and they quivered as she walked, nay, sashayed around the room, salaciously dusting and arranging things.
She came around to the front of my chair, and stopped mere inches away, with a sly toothy smile, and stood there for a moment, while her breasts continued to jiggle for a moment more.
And then, to my stunned surprise, she reached to the neckline of her dress, and slowly pulled it down, exposing deep brown cleavage that a man could drown in forever. And I drowned, watching her continue, slowly exposing more and more of that amazing chest, more and more of her lovely skin. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She kept going, and then she did something with her hand, something with her shoulders, and something else, and one of her stunning breasts slid entirely free, the nipple even darker and standing stiffly at attention.
I reached for it, with both hands. I was desperate, and it looked so soft, so comforting, so delicious –
She stopped me, catching my hand in hers, and whispered, “Hundred dollars.” What could I do? I fumbled out a Benjamin, and then she took the bill, took my hand, and brought it to her chest.
It was as warm and as soft, nay, warmer and softer and sweeter feeling than I had imagined. Her breast was smooth, soft, yet firm, her nipple standing erect like a tin soldier, and I bowed my head towards it, tongue lolling out in anticipation, and she put a finger to my lips, stopping me again.
“Hundred dollars.”
Another Benjamin, and then my face was planted into her cleavage. She pulled me down, mashing my nose into hot brown flesh, pressing my lips against an erect nipple, softly begging me to suck it. I obeyed. I was helpless before this magnificent woman, and I reveled in her chest, battering my face with her teats, sloppily lapping every time my tongue found a nipple, massaging and mauling her breasts with both hands.
It must have only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours. It was wonderful. I felt totally bereft when she pulled back, pushed my hands away, and reassembled her maid’s uniform to properly cover her chest again.
That was the beginning. It got worse.
I couldn’t rationalize what I had done. Not only had I taken comfort in the breasts of a foreigner, I’d even paid for the privilege. I swore up and down I’d never do it again. I’d avoid her, I thought, even avoid the club. Then I decided it would be better to meet her face to face, to see her breasts and deny them to me, deny her, and so I went to the club, and took my chair, and faced the fire with grim determination.
Of course, she wasn’t there. The butler came by, provided my brandy, and I was left to stare at the flames, sip the brandy, and stew in my determination.
Some hours later, I was still stewing, but you might almost call it marinating. The butler hadn’t stinted with the brandy, and I wasn’t doing anything besides sitting and sipping. I must have closed my eyes and drifted off in a drunken haze, because suddenly I awoke with a sweet nipple in my lips and my hands clutching a round Spanish ass.
I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop. Four C-notes later I was lathering myself with her sweat, dwelling in her cleavage, lost into a hedonistic ecstasy of femininity. All my determination had disappeared in a haze of drunken lust for her comforting chest.
I should have paid more attention then. It was four hundred that night, and six hundred the next. I paid another hundred on Wednesday for a kiss from those thick wet lips, and another hundred for her to sit on my lap and squirm for a splendid moment.
Thursday I paid three hundred for her to stay on my lap longer, and it was like a lifetime. I had my lips fastened to her breasts, my hands tangled in her hair, and my slacks were straining over my swollen underwear. And she softly gyrated, circling, squirming, rubbing up and down as I paid for her body, paid her over and over again for each and every handful of flesh I was able to collect.
It was terrible. It was wonderful. I was giving her hundreds of dollars every night for less and less. Yet my addiction to her made me pay more and more, just to keep what I had, and yet more, yet more, every night, I longed for more.
She knew what she was doing. Oh yes, she knew.
When she was on my lap she’d whisper to me, sometimes just soft moans as I fondled her, sometimes a soft request for another bill, but she’d begun whispering that if she got caught on my lap at the club, she’d get fired, so I should hire her, she whispered, I should pay her to take care of me all the time...
So I did. I offered her ten thousand dollars a month to stay in my apartment downtown. I already had maid service, it came with the building, but I couldn’t stand the chance of her getting fired from the club and never seeing her again. I was still giving her hundreds of dollars a night for a little groping and fondling, and now she moved into my apartment, at a ridiculous salary. She didn’t clean. She didn’t bring me brandy. I had to do it all myself, and then she’d get a little twinkle in her eyes, and approach me as I sat before the fire, and she’d shake her shoulders a little, and those magnificent breasts would wobble and sway, and she’d watch my eyes as I followed them hungrily, desperately, and then she’d shuffle a little closer, and say, in that low sweet voice, “Hundred dollars”, and more of my money would vanish, in return for a few minutes of heavenly flesh.
She wanted it all. She got it all. I couldn’t refuse her anything, she would just slip onto my lap, brush her great big breast against my lips, then dig into my pockets as I frantically nuzzled for all I could. She’d stay there, thighs sliding over me, just long enough to get my wallet out of my pants, where she’d lift another hundred dollars and put it back, stuffing her hands into my pocket, caressing my painfully hard cock through the thin fabric, then she’d slide off, away, take her wonderful body away, leaving me alone, poorer, wanting, desperate, helpless. If I approached her, she just slapped or pushed me away. If I tried something she didn’t want, again, slap or shove or just leave me alone.
I tried. I brought her gifts. I bought her a BMW, diamonds, anything for a few more minutes of her against me. Anything for another minute of her nipple between my lips, anything for another moment of her on my lap, anything to caress her ass again. Anything.
She led me on. She let me slip a hand up under her dress, so I could stroke her backside through her underwear. She took more money from me and let me nibble on her neck, she took the car and kissed me. She took the diamond necklace and let me play with her mammoth mammaries for a full fifteen minutes. It was like Pavlov’s dog, and I was totally conditioned.
It wasn’t very long before she’d moved to my country manor, and, in exchange for another car, let me see her naked. Completely naked she stood before me, then as I fumbled and staggered, she brushed her dark-skinned beauty against me for a lovely moment, then slipped away and locked the door behind her. I collapsed to the floor and stayed there, on the rug outside her room, for nearly an hour.
Her sisters were fat and sassy, both of them. Although they’d inherited the same genes and would have been nearly as stunning if they were as shapely, they’d both taken the opportunity to eat themselves into bloatation. Although their breasts were even larger than my teasing lover Michelle’s, they lay heavily atop bulging potbellies and instead of a delicious wobble they’d sway like sacks from a crane.
I took what I could. For letting her sisters live with me, eat my food, occupy my house, harass my staff, she came to me one night, as I lay by myself masturbating, dreaming of her. She came to my room, dressed only in a silken nightgown (It had cost me over six thousand dollars, and for that I got to see her wear it – This was the second time) and in an instant the sheets were tented and I reached for her lovely form.
But she didn’t come close enough. I knew better than to get out of bed, because I knew she’d only disappear. She began to dance, slowly, seductively, swaying like a cobra to a hot Spanish beat, and I lay there, eyes wide, cock desperate for relief, and she twirled and shimmied and sashayed for what seemed a lifetime of purely hedonistic pleasure.
I lay there hypnotized.
But behind her the door opened, and one of her blimpy sisters, Trisha, slipped in. Her sister was also in silk, but on her it was tight over the belly and fell awkwardly from a flabby ass, while on my lover it danced like a flame. I had to make do.
My poor cock was aching so much, when my dancer slipped away and her sister came to my bed, I didn’t really have a choice. Moments later I was lying there helplessly, slapped down again, and a 250lb fatty was riding my cock. The dancer was gone, I was still there, and her sister was slamming herself down on me, knocking the breath out of me, using my cock to get her off like a piece of rigid meat. I was her dildo, her vibrator, and when she came, she collapsed on top of me, squashing me against the bed underneath her disgusting flab.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen. I’d gone from scorning blondes because they only stood 5’8” and I wanted a tall bride, scorning redheads because at 6’ tall they’d been ten pounds over the ideal 140, scorning a brunette billionaire because her family had only lived in Boston for three generations, and here I was, a sex toy for a short fat immigrant, her living in my house, she eating my food, and I totally dominated by my unsatiated lust for her sister.
That was only the first time. I instinctively knew that I had to pleasure her sisters if my dancer would ever dance for me again. The next night it was the other sister, a year younger and thirty pounds heavier, and she squashed me like a grape. I was in such a straining state watching my beauty dance that even the billowing belly of the woman really riding me, as it slammed up and down, bouncing like a beanbag chair, kept me rigidly at attention, my heaving hips shook her rump, and all I could see was her enormous nipples erect like cannons over her fat-stuffed hill.
She even took a hundred dollars from my wallet on the dresser as I lay there, stunned, trying to breathe again. And another one for her sister.
Fortunately, they know me very well at the bank. The branch manager would come by regularly with my ‘withdrawal’ as a sack of hundred-dollar bills. I had no idea what they were spending them on, because they used my credit cards to buy things, my account at the supermarket to order food, living in my house...
And they spent quite a lot at the supermarket. I guess they’d been fairly poor most of their life, and now the opportunities granted them for unlimited gluttony were irresistible. They had no idea there was so many different kinds of cheese, so one day they bought a hundred different kinds and spent the entire afternoon after the delivery sampling cheeses. Well, they called it sampling. To me it looked like they were just stuffing their faces, and constantly demanding more. I had to keep running from the table to the couch because they were too lazy to heave their hefty butts off the couch far enough to reach. By the time sundown came, all three girls were lying back, not moving at all, except their mouths to chew and demand more. They’d not even lift their arms, they made me cut up the cheeses, and put the chunks and cubes straight into their mouths. It was humiliating. It only came to an end when the three women were completely stuffed.
It was a scene straight from ancient Rome, after a great food orgy. Three women, all voluptuous, two seriously obese, all with big round bellies sticking out of their shorts, sticking up as they leaned back, burping and farting with abandon, only stopping to occasionally demand something else to eat. And, of course, I had to run to comply.
That night cost me four hundred dollars – Not counting the food. Later that night Trisha, the thinner of the two sisters came to my room, by herself. I didn’t get a dance, but I knew I had to get hard right away, so when she bent over the edge of the bed I could ram into her enormous ass, making her big belly wobble and shake underneath her, slapping against the bed, her breasts flying out in front of her, nipples aiming at the wall on the far side, each heavy bag slapping loudly with every shove I gave her. She whimpered, insulted me, told me to thrust her harder, asked me if I was in yet, and cursed that unless I did her harder, it was all over. Moments later it was. She took two hundreds from my wallet, and blew me a little kiss on the way out.
I sat there on my own bed, disgusted with myself. I, Harcourt W.P.M-S IV, had just been used by a fat whore who took what she wanted, and left me wanting. I could have cried myself to sleep, but only a few minutes later her sister Maxine, the youngest and fattest one, came in, and wanted me underneath her ballooned belly and crammed into her from below. I saw the beautiful Michelle in the hall, and she just passed with a smile. Maxine buried me in her sweaty fat. I orgasmed for all I was worth, and got a real kiss – And another lightening of the wallet- forty-five minutes later.
That was only the first night of their massive binge. The next day they’d ordered meat, raided my wine cellar, fired my butler - who’d been with the Marshall-Stones since he was twenty - and brought in their own cooks, one for each girl. And then they fell to eating and drinking and carrying on like it was 1999. By two in the afternoon all three were bloated and wasted, slugging expensive wine like so much beer and tearing at steak with their bare hands. Meat juices and spilled wine littered their faces and clothing. Finally, after spilling nearly half a bottle of Chateau LaFrance, 1956! down her shirt, Maxine burped, swore, and just peeled her shirt off and threw it at me. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and her belly and tits lurched forwards with glee at their new freedom.
Half an hour later they all three were nearly naked. Only Michelle was still wearing panties, but I was too busy, and too exhasuted, to stare. They’d kept me at nearly a dead run all day, and their instructions just got stranger and stranger the more they drank. They’d slur something at me, then yell if I brought the wrong thing. They’d slap me for looking at their breasts, or punch me in the crotch as I went by, climbing over some thick limb sprawled upon the floor. By four I could finally relax. Trisha had gone first, passing out face down into a bowl of chocolates. Neither of the other two drunk Mexicans even noticed for a few minutes, being busy stuffing their faces and pouring wine over each other’s breasts, but when Trisha began to snore through a bunch of $20 each truffles, they laughed at her, toasted her with some more wine, then Maxine yawned, and slumped back onto the couch, and began to drool. Her enormous belly slowly rose and fell with her panting breaths.
Michelle looked at me. She smiled, but when I approached her she shook her head, mouthed “Maybe tomorrow” at me, then she toasted me, tossed back her wine, most of which went into her hair, then giggled, and slumped down on the carpet beside Trisha, her own spherical belly dwarfed by her sister's.
And there's where I quit writing. Anyone? Scx
An unfinished tale (aren't they all?) where the fat women are the villians. Sort of. sex described in greasy detail, the usual... Scx
The Fortune of H.W.P.M-S IV
by ~Scx
A potboiler of a tale which has been put up for adoption due to a severe case of writer's block. Any adoptive authors please apply.
My name is Harcourt Winston Philip Marshall-Stone IV. There. And nobody calls me “Harry” – Well, they didn’t, they didn’t used to...
Let me start at the beginning. My great grandpa, the first H.W.P.M-S, made a fortune in railroads and shipping, and left it to all his descendants on the stern benediction that the eldest son always be named after him, and that son should take the most extreme of care to insure the fortune, and the family line, lasted forever.
So there I was. I was only 24 when my father, H.W.P.M-S III, after having divorced my mother, crashed his airplane into the Atlantic one evening. Only pieces of the plane were ever found. My grandfather had only passed on a few years earlier, and suddenly I was in charge of the family fortune.
So I had to find a suitable wife as soon as possible. That’s where the trouble started. It isn’t very difficult to get introductions to eligible debutantes when you’re a Marshall-Stone in this town, but the ones I was being introduced to were useless! All the ones of classy enough family and sufficient income were obnoxious and ugly, and all the acceptable ones physically were just not of acceptable family for a Marshall-Stone.
I had retreated, after a particularly taxing ball to my favourite den in my favourite club, where I was nursing a large glass of excellent brandy and glumly staring into the fire, and staring into a grim future with some harridan in the house. Oh, if I had only known then what I know now!
Actually, I was probably nursing several large glasses of the excellent brandy at this club. I had been sitting and staring at the fire for some time, and it was quite late, when one of the cleaning staff came in. She... Oh, she was Mexican, dressed only in a simple maid’s uniform, but she had thick soft hair, and lips that looked just made for kissing. And she had a magnificent bustline. Her breasts were vast, but pointed and firm, and they quivered as she walked, nay, sashayed around the room, salaciously dusting and arranging things.
She came around to the front of my chair, and stopped mere inches away, with a sly toothy smile, and stood there for a moment, while her breasts continued to jiggle for a moment more.
And then, to my stunned surprise, she reached to the neckline of her dress, and slowly pulled it down, exposing deep brown cleavage that a man could drown in forever. And I drowned, watching her continue, slowly exposing more and more of that amazing chest, more and more of her lovely skin. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She kept going, and then she did something with her hand, something with her shoulders, and something else, and one of her stunning breasts slid entirely free, the nipple even darker and standing stiffly at attention.
I reached for it, with both hands. I was desperate, and it looked so soft, so comforting, so delicious –
She stopped me, catching my hand in hers, and whispered, “Hundred dollars.” What could I do? I fumbled out a Benjamin, and then she took the bill, took my hand, and brought it to her chest.
It was as warm and as soft, nay, warmer and softer and sweeter feeling than I had imagined. Her breast was smooth, soft, yet firm, her nipple standing erect like a tin soldier, and I bowed my head towards it, tongue lolling out in anticipation, and she put a finger to my lips, stopping me again.
“Hundred dollars.”
Another Benjamin, and then my face was planted into her cleavage. She pulled me down, mashing my nose into hot brown flesh, pressing my lips against an erect nipple, softly begging me to suck it. I obeyed. I was helpless before this magnificent woman, and I reveled in her chest, battering my face with her teats, sloppily lapping every time my tongue found a nipple, massaging and mauling her breasts with both hands.
It must have only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like hours. It was wonderful. I felt totally bereft when she pulled back, pushed my hands away, and reassembled her maid’s uniform to properly cover her chest again.
That was the beginning. It got worse.
I couldn’t rationalize what I had done. Not only had I taken comfort in the breasts of a foreigner, I’d even paid for the privilege. I swore up and down I’d never do it again. I’d avoid her, I thought, even avoid the club. Then I decided it would be better to meet her face to face, to see her breasts and deny them to me, deny her, and so I went to the club, and took my chair, and faced the fire with grim determination.
Of course, she wasn’t there. The butler came by, provided my brandy, and I was left to stare at the flames, sip the brandy, and stew in my determination.
Some hours later, I was still stewing, but you might almost call it marinating. The butler hadn’t stinted with the brandy, and I wasn’t doing anything besides sitting and sipping. I must have closed my eyes and drifted off in a drunken haze, because suddenly I awoke with a sweet nipple in my lips and my hands clutching a round Spanish ass.
I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop. Four C-notes later I was lathering myself with her sweat, dwelling in her cleavage, lost into a hedonistic ecstasy of femininity. All my determination had disappeared in a haze of drunken lust for her comforting chest.
I should have paid more attention then. It was four hundred that night, and six hundred the next. I paid another hundred on Wednesday for a kiss from those thick wet lips, and another hundred for her to sit on my lap and squirm for a splendid moment.
Thursday I paid three hundred for her to stay on my lap longer, and it was like a lifetime. I had my lips fastened to her breasts, my hands tangled in her hair, and my slacks were straining over my swollen underwear. And she softly gyrated, circling, squirming, rubbing up and down as I paid for her body, paid her over and over again for each and every handful of flesh I was able to collect.
It was terrible. It was wonderful. I was giving her hundreds of dollars every night for less and less. Yet my addiction to her made me pay more and more, just to keep what I had, and yet more, yet more, every night, I longed for more.
She knew what she was doing. Oh yes, she knew.
When she was on my lap she’d whisper to me, sometimes just soft moans as I fondled her, sometimes a soft request for another bill, but she’d begun whispering that if she got caught on my lap at the club, she’d get fired, so I should hire her, she whispered, I should pay her to take care of me all the time...
So I did. I offered her ten thousand dollars a month to stay in my apartment downtown. I already had maid service, it came with the building, but I couldn’t stand the chance of her getting fired from the club and never seeing her again. I was still giving her hundreds of dollars a night for a little groping and fondling, and now she moved into my apartment, at a ridiculous salary. She didn’t clean. She didn’t bring me brandy. I had to do it all myself, and then she’d get a little twinkle in her eyes, and approach me as I sat before the fire, and she’d shake her shoulders a little, and those magnificent breasts would wobble and sway, and she’d watch my eyes as I followed them hungrily, desperately, and then she’d shuffle a little closer, and say, in that low sweet voice, “Hundred dollars”, and more of my money would vanish, in return for a few minutes of heavenly flesh.
She wanted it all. She got it all. I couldn’t refuse her anything, she would just slip onto my lap, brush her great big breast against my lips, then dig into my pockets as I frantically nuzzled for all I could. She’d stay there, thighs sliding over me, just long enough to get my wallet out of my pants, where she’d lift another hundred dollars and put it back, stuffing her hands into my pocket, caressing my painfully hard cock through the thin fabric, then she’d slide off, away, take her wonderful body away, leaving me alone, poorer, wanting, desperate, helpless. If I approached her, she just slapped or pushed me away. If I tried something she didn’t want, again, slap or shove or just leave me alone.
I tried. I brought her gifts. I bought her a BMW, diamonds, anything for a few more minutes of her against me. Anything for another minute of her nipple between my lips, anything for another moment of her on my lap, anything to caress her ass again. Anything.
She led me on. She let me slip a hand up under her dress, so I could stroke her backside through her underwear. She took more money from me and let me nibble on her neck, she took the car and kissed me. She took the diamond necklace and let me play with her mammoth mammaries for a full fifteen minutes. It was like Pavlov’s dog, and I was totally conditioned.
It wasn’t very long before she’d moved to my country manor, and, in exchange for another car, let me see her naked. Completely naked she stood before me, then as I fumbled and staggered, she brushed her dark-skinned beauty against me for a lovely moment, then slipped away and locked the door behind her. I collapsed to the floor and stayed there, on the rug outside her room, for nearly an hour.
Her sisters were fat and sassy, both of them. Although they’d inherited the same genes and would have been nearly as stunning if they were as shapely, they’d both taken the opportunity to eat themselves into bloatation. Although their breasts were even larger than my teasing lover Michelle’s, they lay heavily atop bulging potbellies and instead of a delicious wobble they’d sway like sacks from a crane.
I took what I could. For letting her sisters live with me, eat my food, occupy my house, harass my staff, she came to me one night, as I lay by myself masturbating, dreaming of her. She came to my room, dressed only in a silken nightgown (It had cost me over six thousand dollars, and for that I got to see her wear it – This was the second time) and in an instant the sheets were tented and I reached for her lovely form.
But she didn’t come close enough. I knew better than to get out of bed, because I knew she’d only disappear. She began to dance, slowly, seductively, swaying like a cobra to a hot Spanish beat, and I lay there, eyes wide, cock desperate for relief, and she twirled and shimmied and sashayed for what seemed a lifetime of purely hedonistic pleasure.
I lay there hypnotized.
But behind her the door opened, and one of her blimpy sisters, Trisha, slipped in. Her sister was also in silk, but on her it was tight over the belly and fell awkwardly from a flabby ass, while on my lover it danced like a flame. I had to make do.
My poor cock was aching so much, when my dancer slipped away and her sister came to my bed, I didn’t really have a choice. Moments later I was lying there helplessly, slapped down again, and a 250lb fatty was riding my cock. The dancer was gone, I was still there, and her sister was slamming herself down on me, knocking the breath out of me, using my cock to get her off like a piece of rigid meat. I was her dildo, her vibrator, and when she came, she collapsed on top of me, squashing me against the bed underneath her disgusting flab.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen. I’d gone from scorning blondes because they only stood 5’8” and I wanted a tall bride, scorning redheads because at 6’ tall they’d been ten pounds over the ideal 140, scorning a brunette billionaire because her family had only lived in Boston for three generations, and here I was, a sex toy for a short fat immigrant, her living in my house, she eating my food, and I totally dominated by my unsatiated lust for her sister.
That was only the first time. I instinctively knew that I had to pleasure her sisters if my dancer would ever dance for me again. The next night it was the other sister, a year younger and thirty pounds heavier, and she squashed me like a grape. I was in such a straining state watching my beauty dance that even the billowing belly of the woman really riding me, as it slammed up and down, bouncing like a beanbag chair, kept me rigidly at attention, my heaving hips shook her rump, and all I could see was her enormous nipples erect like cannons over her fat-stuffed hill.
She even took a hundred dollars from my wallet on the dresser as I lay there, stunned, trying to breathe again. And another one for her sister.
Fortunately, they know me very well at the bank. The branch manager would come by regularly with my ‘withdrawal’ as a sack of hundred-dollar bills. I had no idea what they were spending them on, because they used my credit cards to buy things, my account at the supermarket to order food, living in my house...
And they spent quite a lot at the supermarket. I guess they’d been fairly poor most of their life, and now the opportunities granted them for unlimited gluttony were irresistible. They had no idea there was so many different kinds of cheese, so one day they bought a hundred different kinds and spent the entire afternoon after the delivery sampling cheeses. Well, they called it sampling. To me it looked like they were just stuffing their faces, and constantly demanding more. I had to keep running from the table to the couch because they were too lazy to heave their hefty butts off the couch far enough to reach. By the time sundown came, all three girls were lying back, not moving at all, except their mouths to chew and demand more. They’d not even lift their arms, they made me cut up the cheeses, and put the chunks and cubes straight into their mouths. It was humiliating. It only came to an end when the three women were completely stuffed.
It was a scene straight from ancient Rome, after a great food orgy. Three women, all voluptuous, two seriously obese, all with big round bellies sticking out of their shorts, sticking up as they leaned back, burping and farting with abandon, only stopping to occasionally demand something else to eat. And, of course, I had to run to comply.
That night cost me four hundred dollars – Not counting the food. Later that night Trisha, the thinner of the two sisters came to my room, by herself. I didn’t get a dance, but I knew I had to get hard right away, so when she bent over the edge of the bed I could ram into her enormous ass, making her big belly wobble and shake underneath her, slapping against the bed, her breasts flying out in front of her, nipples aiming at the wall on the far side, each heavy bag slapping loudly with every shove I gave her. She whimpered, insulted me, told me to thrust her harder, asked me if I was in yet, and cursed that unless I did her harder, it was all over. Moments later it was. She took two hundreds from my wallet, and blew me a little kiss on the way out.
I sat there on my own bed, disgusted with myself. I, Harcourt W.P.M-S IV, had just been used by a fat whore who took what she wanted, and left me wanting. I could have cried myself to sleep, but only a few minutes later her sister Maxine, the youngest and fattest one, came in, and wanted me underneath her ballooned belly and crammed into her from below. I saw the beautiful Michelle in the hall, and she just passed with a smile. Maxine buried me in her sweaty fat. I orgasmed for all I was worth, and got a real kiss – And another lightening of the wallet- forty-five minutes later.
That was only the first night of their massive binge. The next day they’d ordered meat, raided my wine cellar, fired my butler - who’d been with the Marshall-Stones since he was twenty - and brought in their own cooks, one for each girl. And then they fell to eating and drinking and carrying on like it was 1999. By two in the afternoon all three were bloated and wasted, slugging expensive wine like so much beer and tearing at steak with their bare hands. Meat juices and spilled wine littered their faces and clothing. Finally, after spilling nearly half a bottle of Chateau LaFrance, 1956! down her shirt, Maxine burped, swore, and just peeled her shirt off and threw it at me. She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and her belly and tits lurched forwards with glee at their new freedom.
Half an hour later they all three were nearly naked. Only Michelle was still wearing panties, but I was too busy, and too exhasuted, to stare. They’d kept me at nearly a dead run all day, and their instructions just got stranger and stranger the more they drank. They’d slur something at me, then yell if I brought the wrong thing. They’d slap me for looking at their breasts, or punch me in the crotch as I went by, climbing over some thick limb sprawled upon the floor. By four I could finally relax. Trisha had gone first, passing out face down into a bowl of chocolates. Neither of the other two drunk Mexicans even noticed for a few minutes, being busy stuffing their faces and pouring wine over each other’s breasts, but when Trisha began to snore through a bunch of $20 each truffles, they laughed at her, toasted her with some more wine, then Maxine yawned, and slumped back onto the couch, and began to drool. Her enormous belly slowly rose and fell with her panting breaths.
Michelle looked at me. She smiled, but when I approached her she shook her head, mouthed “Maybe tomorrow” at me, then she toasted me, tossed back her wine, most of which went into her hair, then giggled, and slumped down on the carpet beside Trisha, her own spherical belly dwarfed by her sister's.
And there's where I quit writing. Anyone? Scx