BOTH The Storm (a short erotic love story)

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Definitely NOT Jolly
Sep 29, 2005
somewhere south of the North Pole
TheStorm copy.png

This 2564-word erotic story revisits the SSBBW and BHM couple Kate and Spence from my previous work: ‘Mind if I Make Love to You.’ An homage to the deep, long lasting love affair only couples of a certain age experience. Not all epic romances are between twenty-somethings who’ve just met. Sex gets better when you age with the right partner.

NSFW with explicit language and sexual situations. Enjoy.

The Storm

Spence sticks his head into her office and clears his throat to get her attention.


“Hmmm?” she responds without looking up, obviously deeply entrenched in whatever project she is working on.

Gorgeous, there’s an ugly storm headed our way, so I am gonna run up to the store and pick up the items on the list tacked to the refrigerator you were going to run and get tonight. I don’t want you out and about in it.”

Typical Spence, always so thoughtful and protective. He paused for a breath and continued, “Do you need anything not on that list?”

This brings her attention fully out of her laptop and she spins in her chair, “Darling, I will stop and go now. It’s my turn.” She turns and reaches to save her work.

“No, no” he says quickly, and goes to her, cupping her face in his large, warm palm, “I don’t want my future NY Times Best Selling Author running to the supermarket for wine and toilet paper and getting caught in that advancing storm. Finish here and relax in a bath. I’ll be back shortly.”

Sighing in her acquiescence, she leans her face into his palm, turning her head to kiss it. She is rewarded when he bends down and lightly kisses her lips.

“If it starts to thunder, get out of that tub, hear me?” he says lovingly but sternly.

“Yes grampa!” she smiles teasingly as they both chuckle.

“You know what that makes you, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes…now go before it gets nasty. Be careful and stay safe.”

“Love you, too, Kate.” He says as he walks out the door. But not before she reaches for his ass and gives it a little pinch.

“What was that for, woman?” he turns toward her again.

“Mine!” her eyebrows shoot up and her grin is full of wicked intentions.

“You bet that sweet ass I am,” he grins and then heads out.

continued in next post
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Definitely NOT Jolly
Sep 29, 2005
somewhere south of the North Pole
Spence returns home about an hour later, several bags in hand. When she doesn’t come out to greet him, he figures she must be finishing up in her office or in the bath, so he sets about to put the handful of items away.

Afterward, he wanders into their ensuite to find Kate resting in the oversized garden tub, a washcloth across her eyes. The bathroom lighting is turned low, and a few large jar candles alight on the vanity, filling the room with the scent of apples and warm vanilla sugar he loves so much. Sinatra plays softly from her phone.

He hesitates a moment, contemplating undressing and climbing in with her. As he is about to start pulling his tee over his head, she speaks.

“That you honey?” she asks shakily, her tone not as relaxed as he expected.

“No, it’s the boogeyman,” he retorts playfully sarcastic, but his tone quickly shifts to concern when she sniffs and hiccups, a telltale sign she’s been crying. Removing the cloth from her face reveals puffy, red eyes.

“You’ve been crying.” It’s not a statement, though, but an inquiry: What’s wrong? Why have you been crying?

“I’m fine,” she says. Her standard response for when she doesn’t want to burden him. Her voice breaks and tears spill from her eyes once more.

“THIS is NOT fine,” he says through stress clenched teeth. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He reaches and takes her hand in both of his, rubbing across the top in a soothing gesture. “Please.”

They go back and forth several times, her insisting she’s fine, despite the tears, and his tone becoming increasingly impatient and worried.

“Katharine,” his tone leaves no room for argument.

“Alright, I’m embarrassed. Happy now?” she finally admits, her tone defeated.

“Gorgeous,” he says, exasperation evident in his voice, “I’ve seen you naked before. That always makes me happy. I’ve also seen you cry before. And no, I am definitely not happy about that. What the fuck is bothering you?”

“Go look at my laptop.” She points in the direction of her home office. Sighing heavily, he goes to her desk and reads the book review of her latest novel that she left pulled up on the screen:

‘Mind if I Make Love to You’ by Katharine was my first book of hers and wish I could say I enjoyed it. All the elements for a promising story were there.

I didn’t like either Spencer or Kate. It was too slow paced and there was nothing interesting happening to force the story forward. Looking at the author’s picture, I get the impression she is a fatter and even more homely than her main character, so she’s probably never been intimate with a man since no one would want her.

The entire story left me irritated. I can only give this 1* out of 5*****s.

When he returns to their bathroom, she’s managed to stop crying and is now sitting on the edge of the tub drying herself. He sits next to her and leans over to give her a sweet kiss on her temple.

“Honey, that’s not your first bad review. I believe that person is a 1000% wrong! But it is bound to happen again as you keep publishing. Remember what your agent warned you about? You can’t take it personally.” His voice is, as always, calm and reassuring.

“Darling, it IS personal. The rest of the review I can work with and be better. It’s the crack about my picture…” her voice breaks again, and the waterworks threaten to open back up.

His arm goes around her, pulling her into him as she lays her head on his shoulder.

“Stop this nonsense right now.” Spence’s words might be sharp, but his affectionate tone belies any sharpness. “You are MY gorgeous girl, okay? Some internet idiot’s opinion means shit. Hear me?”

She nods shakily and tries to bury her face in his neck; however, he reaches over and lifts her face up before his lips touch hers. His kiss is soft and sensual. Her heart swells every time he kisses her.

His mouth covers hers, sweet and slow and heartbreakingly tender as he laps up the salty tears on her lips and drinks up her sobs with his tongue. They both stand now, her towel falling to the floor, and spend another several moments kissing like this. She finds herself clutching his T-shirt in her fists, holding on to him like her life depends on it.

After pulling away from the kiss, he takes her face in his big, warm hands and looks into her eyes. His thumbs glide gently across her puffy cheeks, soothing her broken heart the way only he can. As she continues to gaze into his eyes, she feels like he is peering into her inner soul. Most people would wither under such serious observance, but she trusts him enough to let him see everything she is thinking. As someone who knows her so well, he can always see what she is thinking and feeling. She’s never been able to hide her emotions from his direct gaze.

“Thank you,” she finally manages to say. Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet, barely above a whisper. In answer, he pulls her closer, his hands resting on her naked ass, molding their bodies together. To look at them side by side, one wouldn’t think they would fit together. But her body is ultra-soft, and it adapts and sculpts itself around his strong, solid frame.

He slowly walks her backward, until her back is pressed against the wall, his hands now holding her arms pinned at her sides, as his mouth crashes into hers, his tongue sweeping across the seam demanding entrance. This kiss is more insistent, more conquering than his prior ones. He readily swallows her moans, even as they increase when his knee parts her legs. The rigid denim on his thigh brushes against her inner thighs, lighting fires on the skin there.

She wants to grind against him, but the way his body is pressed against hers, with her arms pinned at her sides, she can’t get the needed rhythm. This only serves to make her need for him grow exponentially. When he finally pulls away, she cries out in frustration at the sudden loss of contact.

“Come with me,” he beckons, crooking a finger as if she needs encouragement to follow him. She’s his to command and they both know it. She’s aware where they are headed, and she welcomes it, following silently.

Once in their bedroom, he asks her to help him undress and she gladly obliges. Kate’s hands skim his body, peppering feather light touches everywhere. His skin is warm and his body both simultaneously pliant and solid. Her favorites spots to stroke are the skin of his thighs and pelvis, the small hairs always tickle her fingers.

Again, he captures her hands and holds them at her sides, while his mouth yet again boldly claims hers, stealing her breath. Oh, who are we kidding, she gives it to him willingly. Whatever she has, she wants her Spence to have as well.

“Love you.”

“Too.” There’s no need for drawn out, flowery words.

Gently guiding her to their shared bed, he directs her to lay prone while sliding a pillow underneath her hips. Spreading her legs, he kneels between them.

“Make love or fuck?” He hesitates and asks, quirking a brow at her. A streak of lightning outside the window lights up the room before a loud crash of thunder rolls through the air. Her body shakes, with anticipation of what is to come and from anxiety over the storm.

“Make love to me,” her voice pleads, “please.” Thunder crashes again and the sky opens up. Rain lashes the windows and the wind whistles.

Pushing her legs up and apart, his body covers her, caging her in his embrace, and his lips capture hers gently. Her lips are swollen from their repeated kisses and the skin of her face happily sensitive from the delightful friction of his beard. He nips at her lower lip before both lips part, allowing his tongue entrance.

Her arms reach up, trying to pull him closer. Kate loves the feeling of Spence’s skin under her chubby fingers. Running her hands from his shoulders down his arms, feeling the swell and flex of his biceps and the firmness of his forearms. Back up his arms again and down his chest, causing his pectorals to flutter, and the hair there to again caress her fingers. When she reaches his sides, however, she tenderly runs her fingernails along the skin.

As always. he deftly positions himself at her opening, rubbing the head along her folds to open her up. Kissing her or whispering endearments the whole time. She’s more than ready and she wants to thrust upwards to meet him, but he bids her be still.

Entering her slowly…not a tease, but a gentle beginning. “Yesssss,” she moans in response to the satisfying feeling of his length and girth stretching and filling her center “you feel so good inside me.”

Lightning flashes across the window and an unusually loud clap of thunder vibrates the glass seconds later. Both their bodies are shaking, and he stills for a moment. She can’t tell if the quivering is from the feeling of him buried deep inside her or the storm.

Spencer is the storm she surmises. He blows in strong, but when he is done, everything is fresh, and she feels new. Her world is calm.

“You feel so good!” her voice is a whimper of pleasure. Her breathing erratic, as are the movements of her hands on his body. Those hands finally find their way down his back to his perfect ass, and she grabs both cheeks in her hands and squeezes, much the same way he often squeezes her lush, overly abundant globes. She’s pulling him in, wanting him as close as possible against her. Inside her.

This is the impetus that starts his body rocking again.

He moves leisurely in and out, taking his pleasure as she writhes underneath his strong embrace. They’re on that knife’s edge between torture and pleasure, the sweet spot of passion. She can feel her body’s response begin to climb.

“Spence,” his name escapes between her keens of ecstasy, a reverent benediction of their mingled pleasure. “I won’t last much longer.”

With this, he picks up momentum. In and out his thrusts are harder now, faster and she opens her legs wider to take him in deeper, the sounds around them of thunder, his breath, her declarations of passion, and the gentle slap of his body against hers. She sees stars as he thrusts into her, stars brighter than anything she’s ever witnessed, swirling in a vast galaxy of cosmic splendor, shimmering, glorious, sublime.

Rolling her hips, she tries to meet his piston-like thrusts, the pressure from his pelvis massaging her engorged and tender nub. A little faster, a little deeper and the wave breaks, flooding her body with more fire as pleasure shoots straight to her core. His skin is flushed and he feels as if the lightning has somehow come through their window and shot through them both.

As she climaxes around him, her walls clench his turgid hardness and her body releases its own warm liquid. His body stills and even through the waves of ecstasy coursing through her, she feels him twitch inside her and still. As she starts to come down off her orgasmic crescendo, her inner walls still pulsing around him, she can feel the release of his seed deep inside her, mixing with her own release.

Another loud crack of thunder shakes the window.

They stay locked together, his member softening as the results of their pleasure continue to mix deep inside her core. Their breathing returning to normal and she softly brings his face to hers so she can kiss him. Inadequate recompense, yes, but it’s all she can manage to say, ‘thank you’ in the moment.

When he finally withdraws and rolls over onto his back, his breath still a bit ragged from all the work he’s done to bring them both pleasure, she whimpers at the loss of contact. She takes his hand to hold and she’s finally able to say something other than a moan or hiss of ecstasy.

“I love you,” her voice is hushed, but infused with all the emotion behind these three most powerful words.

He rolls toward her, kissing her shoulder, before rolling away and climbing out of their bed. Disappearing into the bathroom where this all started, she hears water running. Moments later, he returns, a warm washcloth in his hands to clean her up.

Once done, he climbs back into bed from his side and reaches his arms out. She scoots into them, her back to his front, as his arms close around her waist. Finally, he speaks the single word that lets her know all is right with the world.


Another kiss to her shoulder, and she has forgotten all about the insulting review and her subsequent meltdown. He has forgotten about the storm that's raging outside their window. As their bodies cradle together, legs intertwined, they drift off to sleep. And even with him holding her, she knows she’ll be dreaming about her Spence.

Always her calm during the storm.

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