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BBW The Con (~BBW, Explicit Sex, Humor)

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acmorgan

New Member
Joined
Jul 14, 2020
Messages
3
Location
USA
Deciding to act on an impulse, a happily-married man approaches a BBW at the bar. There’s nothing wrong with feasting his eyes while exchanging a few words… Right?

(Author's note: There are themes of adultery in this short story. If that’s something that bothers you, you are free to skip this one, but I still encourage you to read it, even if stories about infidelity are not your cup of tea.)


The Con
by AC Morgan

I spot her sitting at the bar: a beautiful face that seems so familiar, yet completely new and exciting at the same time. Attired in a black sequin dress that fits her like a second skin, the zaftig woman flaunts the classic Hollywood look. Side-swept strands of wavy auburn hair cover one side of her face and draw attention to her pouty red lips. I can’t help but think of Jessica Rabbit, if Jessica Rabbit had been blessed with an extra hundred pounds of padding. Mouth-watering mounds of fair flesh strain against her gown, which barely manages to contain all of her voluptuous curves.

My eyes continue traveling south while mentally undressing her. The tight fit of her dress provides her with an almost cartoon-like hourglass figure, and judging by the way the fabric stretches drum-tight across her jutting ass cheeks, she can’t possibly be wearing anything underneath; the lines would be noticeable if she were. Her legs are unexpectedly shapely and culminate in the cutest, plump little feet crammed in high heels.

Not many women have the confidence to wear such a revealing dress while boasting so much skin. She pulls it off majestically, conveying the universal male fantasy from back in the day before the mainstream standard of beauty was skewed during the age of fat-shaming, silicone, and selfies. At maybe 5’10 and two-hundred-sixty plus pounds of pure opulence, she is the embodiment of female sexuality.

This impedes her from being left alone for too long, even by men who, just by their demeanor and looks, you can tell they don’t usually go for that size of woman. A guy who is shooting very high for his league goes for broke, his manners polite and courteous while attempting to buy her a drink.

Big mistake. With a woman like that, you don’t ask. You take.

My assumption about her is proven true when she shakes her head with an inconvenienced smile, and my jealousy subsides as I see the poor guy do the crestfallen rejection stride back to his friends. I gloat in silence, empowered by the knowledge that I could... if I wanted to.

Not a minute has passed when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a peer-level suitor from another table standing up, his eyes on the prize. Should I even consider making a move, this would be my only shot.

Something is stirred inside me and I find myself slipping my left hand into my pocket and using my thumb to push against the ring around my finger. It slides off with barely any resistance and lands on top of my house key with a clink, officially kicking off my losing battle against temptation. I walk in her direction, deceiving myself into thinking that some innocent conversation doesn’t necessarily have to lead to anything else.

Nothing wrong with harmless, friendly banter while enjoying the view from up close.

Small, hesitant steps and a nervous rush of adrenaline coursing through me evince the fact that I haven’t done this in a while. I pull myself together and quicken my pace to beat the competition.

“Is this taken?” I ask smoothly and claim the seat to her right before she answers. The guy I just cut off huffs back to his seat.

“It is now,” she confides to the drink in her hand. Did I hear an accent?

The bartender shoots me an agreeing glance. You’re in, he silently cheers me on. “Old-fashioned,” I nod back.

I search for the woman’s eyes, but her face is hidden behind her drink while she takes one long, slow sip.

“Her next drink is on me,” I instruct the bartender without removing my gaze from the woman.

Locks of silky red hair dance over her plump shoulders as she finally puts down her gin and tonic and turns to me with a raised eyebrow. The pull of gravity on her inviting, adipose flesh suggests she might be somewhere in the neighborhood of her late forties. She looks me up and down.

“That’s a bold move.” Her thick British accent takes me by surprise.

“I’m a bold guy,” I reply without missing a beat. The corners of her lips turn up just a bit like she’s holding back a smile. I can tell she’s going to make me work for it, making her reward that much sweeter if I play along. She narrows an eye, then decides to bite.

“Alright,” she states before twisting in her seat to face me, with a tone that makes it clear I’ll have to earn her trust first. Two formidable, creamy triple D’s surge forward from her dress as she places her left elbow on the bar and her fist to her jaw. She extends her right hand and her breast jiggles when her upper arm brushes against it. It’s humanly impossible not to look. “I’m Wilhelmina Montgomery.”

The name is fake, as is her terrible accent, but I don’t mind.

“Niklas Heinrich,” I lie too as I take her delicate hand. It’s warm and soft in my grip. Our handshake sends more ripples up her breast and blood down to my loins.

“I’m married, just so you know.” Her tone is suggestive more than deterring.

“Don’t see a ring,” I dare her before taking a casual sip of my drink.

“You shouldn’t hit on a married woman, especially while being married yourself,” she says, eyeing the pale stripe of skin on my recently-unringed finger. “You must really love your wife if you wear your ring long enough to get a tan line in this sunless city.”

She’s good. And I do (love my wife), but now is not the time to think about that.

“We have a special arrangement, my wife and I,” I counter with a purposely vague reply. If she’s game, she’ll fill in the blanks on her own. “How about you? Are you expecting company?”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else.”

I look around. At least half the guys in the room keep shooting glances our way, eagerly awaiting their turn and banking on my own walk of shame. I go for the next line that I know will knock another chink off her armor.

“If you don’t mind me saying, your husband must be an idiot to let such a beautiful woman sit alone at a bar while not wearing a ring.”

A naughty grin breaks her face in two.

“He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, I’ll give you that…”

Trouble in paradise, but I’m not one to judge. “So he won’t mind you talking with strange men?”

“Not at all,” she says simply, then tips her glass to her lips to empty the last of her drink. The clinking of the ice cubes reminds me, for the second time, that there’s no turning back now. “I think he actually likes it. Makes him feel like a winner in some twisted way.”

I can relate, but I don’t tell her that. “Sounds like a chump to me,” I humor her instead.

The bartender refills her drink. I nonchalantly slip him a Benjamin, making sure I give her enough time to notice. I wave a cool hand to indicate I don’t expect change.

We continue playing our little game for one more round. The sparks vibrate in the charged air while we size each other up with smoldering eyes. Every time I feel like I’m making headway, her phone screen beats me in the fight for her attention, or I catch her checking out the competition. I dial up the charm by buttering her up but at the same time casually surveying the scene, making it seem like I’m not that interested.

I point out how all eyes are centered on us and give her all the credit, which she rightfully deserves. I know that funny little smile on her face; I recognize the lust on her heavy-lidded eyes. She’s relenting.

It’s time for my move.

“This place is dry,” I state after setting down my empty glass. The bartender comes over with the bottle in hand, awaiting my confirmation to pour me a refill. I turn to look at her, conveying the invitation without words.

A mischievous smirk flashes over her face.

I turn back to the bartender and shake my head, deciding to go all in with my next two scrupulously deliberate words: “We’re leaving.”

I sense a little hesitation, but ‘Wilhelmina’ drowns it by chugging down her whole glass while the bartender and practically the entire bar gasp in unison.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says after getting on her feet.

So much for innocent conversation.

I leave another bill on the counter to overpay for round two, then place my hand on the meaty small of her back and guide her outside, rejoicing at mouths agape and shaken heads of my defeated opponents. You lucky son of a bitch, I can almost hear their thoughts.

The first kiss happens as soon as I close the cab door and blurt out the instructions to my place. The yellow Prius hasn’t even finished pulling out of the curb when she tugs on my shirt and mashes her lips against mine, shoving her hot tongue into my mouth. She kisses differently than my wife does, but her taste is pretty much the same. This familiarity gives rise to intruding thoughts of tomorrow’s daily rut, but I quickly shut them down by fondling her succulent tits over the dress, then digging my fingers into her warm cleavage. She moans into my mouth.
 

acmorgan

New Member
Joined
Jul 14, 2020
Messages
3
Location
USA
I pull her body closer while sliding a hand up her thick thighs, focusing my kisses on her neck. I breathe her spicy perfume, a new, overpowering scent that further immerses me in this moment. When I find my way between her legs, she hikes up her dress and slightly parts her ample thighs to provide maneuvering space. My heart skips a beat when my middle finger finds her fleshy opening without a problem and I verify my previous assessment that she’s going commando. She cocks her head back and writhes in ecstasy when I tease her sensitive clit, drawing tiny circles around it, spreading the wetness that gushes from inside her cave. When her rich scent wafts up to my nostrils, I wonder if we’re the only ones drowning in it. One quick glance and I catch the driver’s excited stare nervously darting away in the rear view mirror.

I can sense his disappointment when we reach my place and hurry out of the cab, cutting short his enjoyment of our little hot show. When I lean in from outside through the passenger window to hand him the cash, I confirm that the stuffy cab is in fact saturated with womanly musk. The back windows are all steamed up when he takes off.

The neighbors’ lights are out and I’m thankful for the lucky break. I wouldn’t want them to see me bringing a smoking hot redhead into the house this late into the night and have them stir up unnecessary drama. Standing before the door, my fingers brush my wedding ring when I dig inside my pocket for the key, but I don’t let it dissuade me.

I instinctively tiptoe as I step inside the house as to not wake the kids, and fortunately, she follows my lead without me having to ask. I’d hate to kill the mood by bringing up the subject of children now.

As soon as we’re past the threshold of the bedroom upstairs we resume with our dance of tongues. I consider turning on the lights to take it all in, treat my eyes to the image of pure desire, but I let our burning passion dictate the rhythm and follow her lead for once. I do, however, make sure I lock the door behind me, just in case…

Together we fumble through the buttons of my shirt, and off it goes, flying across the room and disappearing beyond the bed. Her sequined gown prickles my eager, groping hands, but before I’m able to peel it off of her, she sinks down to her knees and hooks a finger on my belt, then pulls the end out of the buckle. One firm yank and it comes undone. The metallic rattling of the prong and frame in the dark is the third and final chime: the voice of lust materialized.

Next come the button and zipper, after which she pulls down both pants and briefs in one fell swoop, making my stiff cock spring up and almost prompting laughter out of me at the conjured image of a magician unveiling the finale of their trick. She immediately grabs a firm hold of my cock and wraps her hot mouth around the tip. With increasing momentum, warm wetness envelops my throbbing shaft, and a groan escapes my throat. My fingers rake through her ginger hair, a different color than I’m used to, bobbing up and down below me. The wrongness of it takes me further over the edge.

I almost let the unwelcome thoughts invade my reverie once again. Thankfully, her skilled mouth comes to the rescue, expertly wringing my cock, sacrificing her lips by placing them between her teeth and my shaft, all for my benefit.

She knows what she’s doing. You don’t get that from just any random woman at a bar.

I can feel the tension building up, threatening to break free. I’m tempted to let her finish me off, to aim the ropes of my release at her face and tits, but I know that holding back promises an even greater climax. Besides, I’m pretty sure fingering her in the taxi doesn’t qualify as having done my part, so, for the first time tonight, I muster enough self-control to stop. My cock leaves her mouth with a slurping sound.

I take her hand and help her to her feet, then finally hit the lights. Her grin is disarmingly evil as her hands disappear behind her back, and queued by the sound of a zipper undone, her magnificent tits explode out of the dress before it pools at her feet.

And there she is, naked in all her beautiful glory, a present unwrapped, the soft rolls that have been hiding under shiny, prickly sequins, now released and ready for me to feast on.

My attention is immediately drawn to her pendulous, pale breasts which sag deliciously low and heavy. I scoop the hefty bags and burrow my face between them first, then proceed to suck her light-colored nipples into hard pegs while my hands slither through her curves. She turns to jelly in my embrace, tossing her head back and opening her mouth in a silent moan. Massive bulges of pliant flesh overflow from my fingers as I fondle to my heart’s content.

The king-sized Sealy sags on my side of the bed, so I guide her to the opposite end. She obediently crawls onto the edge of the mattress and stays on all fours, lowering her upper half to the sheets and thus raising her rear, opening up before me. Her sex is slick and swollen, still primed from the cab ride. I bend down and dive tongue-first into the thatch of dark curls, and she bucks in surprise. Her musky saltiness is spicy and piquant; I lick harder, lapping up all of her juice. She, in turn, spreads her thighs further apart, bestowing upon me the pleasure of eating her until she jerks with need and demands me inside her.

I line up the tip of my twitching cock at her entrance and push. It slides in with a squelch but stops halfway when it encounters a little resistance. With a thumb on each of her ass cheeks, strategically placed right on the ridges of the dark valley, I gently apply a little pressure, and her slick flesh gives way. Then, in one single thrust, I plunge in, all the way to the base of my length until her muscles clamp down hungrily around my cock, her ass rippling as it pounds against my groin. Her muffled moan is far from silent this time.

I begin thrusting in and out of her and we sync into our rhythm straight away, like we’ve done this a thousand times before. There’s no trace of the awkwardness of first-time sex; her swaying is familiar, deliberate. My lower midriff hits her ass with a wet, slapping sound, sending more quivering ripples up through her body, large waves on her cheeks echoed by smaller jiggles on the fatty rolls of her waist. The fervent pleasure makes me shut my eyes, and I have to consciously focus on keeping them open to rejoice in the beautiful view.

Her walls contracting around my dick and her fists clawing at the sheets are dead giveaways of her orgasms. I count a solid four, though it might be my wishful thinking. I strive for a fifth, but it’s all too much. My climax is imminent.

My fingers clutch her hips and I pull her hard against me one last time, thrusting deep, deep, deep. She suffocates a scream against the mattress when my cock erupts for the first time and a series of her satisfied grunts follow each pulse of my release. I keep a steady grip on her as I shoot, the bursts of bliss bolting through my body as her inner muscles clench tightly and relax along with me. We ride the cascading waves of pleasure together until our shuddering bodies go limp.

Out of breath, she requests I stay inside her for a moment. I gladly oblige, but she quickly changes her mind, claiming she can’t hold it any longer. She then darts to the toilet while I swipe three tissues from the nightstand to clean the dripping mess her sudden exit has left on my hands. She rushes with a hand cupping her sex, either because she really can’t hold it, or she’s being mindful of not spilling on the carpet. I think it’s cute either way.

She sits on the toilet and the lovely sound of her tinkling is interrupted when she shamelessly lets one long, wet fart rip. It roars inside the bowl.

“Good grief! I was holding onto that since the cab ride!”

Her British accent is gone. After flushing, she rummages through the drawers of the bathroom countertop and makes herself at home, brushing her teeth, removing her makeup and slipping into her pajamas. Lastly, she takes off the auburn wig and tosses it by her side of the bed before popping in her mouthguard.

“That was tho much fun, thweetie,” she says, and I have to smile at the sudden shift in mood. “Don’t forget that it’th your turn to drive Ian to thoccer practith tomorrow, and altho—”

“I know, I know,” I reassure her. “The check engine light on your car. I’ll take care of it.”

“By the way, ‘I’m a bold guy’?” she laughs. “You could never pull that off!”
 
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