by Alexis Moore
“Okay.”
“You have a beautiful ass.” I run my hand down her body and stroke the soft skin of her behind. “Any man you meet will want to fuck it. I hadn’t planned on anal tonight, but your sweet ass has tempted me.”
“I always think it’s too big.”
“It’s big and round and a perfect heart shape,” I say as I prop her hips up on some pillows. “I could admire it all day. If it had its own website, I would pay money to log on just to see it.”
She laughs and relaxes more fully onto the bed.
I spread her cheeks and use my tongue to soften her anus. The ring of muscles stay tightly clenched at first, but I persist until I get my tongue past them.
“Ohhh!” she moans as I stab it fully inside her.
I do it a couple more time before I lube two fingers and stretch her opening as I push them to the knuckle.
“Your ass is just as responsive as your pussy,” I tell her as I add some more lube and squeeze another finger inside her. “Just stay nice and relaxed for me.”
So far she’s being surprisingly relaxed and I know that the wine she’d consumed had something to do with it. She isn’t drunk—she’d had another glass of wine with her meal, but she’d said that she ate out a lot and was used to having wine with her meals—but the wine is making her more mellow than she would have been dead sober.
“You’ve done well,” I soon tell her, pressing four fingers inside her to the knuckles and circling them to open her further. “Now you’re ready for me.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, tightening momentarily around my fingers.
“I’m positive,” I reply, keeping the fingers of my right hand inside her and awkwardly applying lube to my cock from tip to base with my left hand. “I will slide inside you like a greased piston.”
I pull my fingers free and try to get inside before her muscles retract, but I still have to jab at them several times before the head of my cock slips in.
“Aw!” she moans and reaches back to sink her fingernails into my thigh.
They’re short but still get in deep enough to cause me discomfort.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I know she doesn’t but again I want her to say it.
I want her to remember that I’m fucking her because she wants me to.
I want her to remember that she’s in control.
“No,” she moans. “Just take it slowly.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” I promise, sinking a little deeper. “I’ll take it nice and slow.”
Using an extra dollop of lube for every inch or so, I work my full length gradually into her tight asshole.
And all the while she moans and groans, but never tells me to stop.
“You’re taken it all, sweetness,” I tell her and for a couple minutes I concentrate on carefully thrusting back and forth. “How does it feel?”
“Strange...but good.” Her hips begin a slight wiggling movement as she seems to relax. “Amazing.”
“It looks incredible,” I tell her. It really did—my cock, hard and red, between the soft snowy pillows of her behind. “You should see how beautiful it looks.”
“I wish I could.”
Her answer surprises me for a second, but then I remember the avid way she’d looked at our joined bodies in the mirror.
“I could take some shots if you want me to?” I suggest.
“Shots?”
“It’s an instant camera and you get all the photos.” I lean over and try to open the bottom drawer of the bedside table, but it’s too far away. Fuck if I’m going to leave her warm tight hole for anything. “Reach into that drawer and see if you can grab it.”
She’s nearer and easily grabs hold of my Polaroid Impossible.
She checks, I guess to ensure that it is an instant.
“Okay,” she says, and then hands it to me.
I take several quick shots and pass them to her, including one with just the tip of my cock inside her, to remind her of the length she’s capable of taking.
As she waits for the images to develop, I start to move faster. Short strokes at first, because her tight ass won’t let go of my cock, but increasing with each thrust.
“Oh my God!” There’s real shock in her voice.
I look up and the first image is coming into view. It’s an extreme close-up and the base of my cock looks massive.
“Just beautiful,” I tell her and come down over her and cup her breasts, sensing that she needs reassurance. I pick up another photo and show it to her. “Your ass is like alabaster. Look how hard my cock is for you and look how your little asshole is hugging it tight like it doesn’t want to let it go.”
“You’re full of shit.” She lets out a strangled laugh.
“You have one of the sweetest asses I’ve ever fucked,” I tell her as I start to stroke her clit.
“Really?”
I can tell she’s pleased by the compliment.
“Honestly,” I assure her as I straighten and grab hold of her hips. I keep her firmly in place as I start to work smoothly in and out of her. I don’t want to tear her or make her too sore. “And I’ve ass-fucked hundreds of women.”
“You have such a dirty mouth.”
“I know,” I reply without shame. “Play with yourself.”
She chuckles quietly and puts down the photo she’d been holding to reach backwards to place one hand on her clit and the other on her breast.
“Yes, baby.” I feel the instant softening of her anus and take full advantage of it, by first pressing my cock deeper and then quickening my pace. “Fucking your ass is like fucking a dream.”
“Fuck it for me, Roger.” I feel her fingers reaching into her pussy, filling her emptiness and stroking against my cock at the same time. “Oh God, fuck it for me!”
“My pleasure, baby.”
“Fuck it...good.”
“Your wish, baby” ― I quicken my pace ― “is my command.”
“Hurts so good...so good,” she mumbles.
I smile and add a little rotating twist to the movement of my hips.
She’s easily in the top three of my all-time favourite ass-fucks. The other two had been total virgins, which had added that something extra to my pleasure, but Anna’s ass is almost the perfect balance of resistance and yield. The use of her bunny in the last couple of months had made her easier to break in, but still left her incredibly tight.
“Yes...yes...good...so good.” Once again she starts backing up against me, taking everything I’ve got to give. I’m...coming.”
Her anal passage sucks me deeper and deeper as she orgasms. I close my eyes as my balls tighten, a telltale sign that I can’t hold out for much longer, and it isn’t long before I join her with a loud groan.
Again I just lie on top of her, enjoying the soft cushion of her body before I finally roll off her and the bed. “I’ll be back.”
I have a pee and then clean my cock thoroughly. He’s had his ass; it will be pussy for the rest of the night for me.
When I get back to the bed, I put my arm around her and pull her in close so that her head is on my shoulder. We stay like this for several minutes, not saying a word
Finally I pick up the photos and we have a look through them.
“They look like porn!” she complains, but her eyes are riveted.
“But porn that you made,” I remind her.
“My anus is stretched so wide.”
“And yet, you’re not in pain, are you?”
“It aches...but there’s no real pain.”
“Your skin’s got great elasticity.” I cup her left breast and we both watch as I knead it with my fingers. The resilient flesh gives easily under pressure but snaps back as soon as it’s released. “You will age well.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know bodies,” I tell her. “And you’re luckier than you realize.”
“Why do you say that?” She bends her arm and props her head onto it to look d
own at me.
“Your body is firm although you don’t exercise.”
“If I lose weight I will probably end up with bags of loose skin.”
“That’s why I advised you not to diet,” I reminded her. “You don’t have to starve yourself or try to lose weight quickly. If you eat more healthily and exercise, it will slowly but surely come off. Make it a long-term goal—something like: get fit or get the body you want by your thirty-fifth or fortieth birthday.”
***
4. ANNA
I stare at Roger for a moment without speaking. What he said made perfect sense and yet I’d never thought of dieting over such a long period myself. If I lost one pound a month, I could be almost within sight of the ideal BMI for my height in 5 years. In 10, my weight would be comfortably in the range.
“I don’t know why I always think that I have to lose weigh overnight,” I admit. “I didn’t gain it overnight. It’s logical that I should lose it the same way I gained, but every time I go on a diet I want to be slim by the end of the month.”
“If you had health issues, I would suggest making losing weight a priority, but thankfully you don’t have to. Gradual weigh loss is less traumatic on the body.” He takes my hands in his. I have to admit I love when he does it. “But there are things you can do that will immediately make you feel more confident.”
“What? Have a body transplant?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ll swap with you in a heartbeat.”
“I would do it, too.” He laughs. “If those breasts were mine, I would fondle them all day. And if I had your ass, I would develop a permanent crick in my neck from looking back at it.”
“You’re insane!” I laugh out loud and raucously at the idea of him wanting my body.
“Getting back to the topic we were discussing.” His face sobers and he gives me a stern look. “First, I want you to buy some scandalously sexy underwear and lingerie, and wear them in the house at least. But, they will make you feel more feminine even if you’re wearing a business suit.”
“They probably don’t do sexy lingerie in my size,” I mutter.
“They do,” he responds and something tells me that he knows what he’s talking about. “Just do a search on the internet. If you can’t find what you want, give me a call and I will give you the links to some great websites. You can order what you want without leaving your home.”
“Okay.”
“Practise walking in the heels I bought you until you’re more confident and then get yourself several more pairs. And wear shoes that show off your feet. They may not be slender, but they are pretty and well shaped. Paint your nails, even if it’s a French manicure. If possible, have it done professionally.”
“The women in beauty salons are always so perfect.”
“And imagine, you can pay them to be at your command.” He laughs. “Imagine yourself sitting there like a queen and having them wash your feet, cut and shape your toenails and then paint them.”
I’ve cringed at the idea of a slim, perfect beautician taking my fat feet between her dainty palms, but I now laugh as I picture it with his words in mind.
“Fashion comes and goes all the time. Rubenesque women were once all the rage, they will again be some time in the future. Think of yourself as being ahead of fashion.”
I laugh and realize that I’ve done it more times in one night with him than I’ve done in a long time.
He’s so easy to talk to.
He must be great at his job as a volunteer.
We’d spoken to each other five times on the phone and he’d asked me a lot of questions. Personal questions, but not the kind of questions a pervert or con man would ask and I’d found myself responding truthfully even though he was a total stranger.
“I don’t think that fat women would ever be in fashion as far as my mother is concerned,” I respond.
“The next time she calls and tells you something negative, pull her up on it. Or better still, call her as soon as you get home today and tell her that you need some time to yourself, so you won’t be calling her for a while.”
“She would go ballistic!”
“Do you care?” he asks. “You need to spend some time focussing on you without her constant criticism.”
“I do,” I admit. Truthfully she’s never gotten over my dad deserting her, but I reach for a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Utter Peanut Butter Clutter after almost every conversation I have with her. I’m her only child, so I’ve allowed her to vent her frustrations on me. It stops now, I decide. “I will call and have a frank talk with her.”
“Make sure you do.”
“I will.” Nothing he’s said is new, but yet it’s like something in my brain has clicked into place.
I deserve to be happy.
The thought almost made me giddy.
I have so much to be grateful for: I’m still young; have no health issues, a home of my own and a well-paying secure job.
And finally I’ve been fucked by a man.
It was worth every penny and I would do it again in a heartbeat, but I know now that there’s no rush—my bunnies will do until I find the man I want.
I will miss Roger’s arms, though.
Maybe it was time to get the boyfriend pillow I’ve wanted to buy.
“Everything you say makes such perfect sense,” I tell him and kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you sure I can’t hire you as my psychiatrist, dietician and personal trainer?”
I’m only joking, of course. I know that he has a full plate already.
He smiles. “You don’t need any of them...although a good personal trainer could help you tailor an exercise programme that’s right for you. Just make sure you find one that suits you and remember that you’re paying them and not the other way around.”
“Okay.” I will give the idea some serious thought, but I’ve seen documentaries like Fat: The Fight Of My Life and Obese: A Year to Save My Life and though the people they help mostly end up losing the weight, I don’t want anyone to push me that hard. “But I think I will try on my own for six months first.”
“Doing it on your own would be better,” he replies.
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes. When you achieve your goals without assistance, you own them. Some people need personal trainers. They will only lose weight if someone’s cracking a whip over their heads and pushing them to exercise regularly. Many will change their lifestyles and continue to make healthy eating choices once they understand the correlation between what they eat, how much they exercise and the weight they gain or lose. But there are others who will regain the weight once the sessions with their trainers stop and that’s because they weren’t in full control of the process. To them it’s like passing an exam by cheating and as a result they feel guilty and quickly gain it back. So, it’s much better if you take control of your own life.” He rubs his thumbs over the skin at the back of my hands. His hands aren’t rough, but the skin is much coarser than mine and bizarrely when he’s stroking me, I can feel how soft my skin is in comparison. “You must exercise, though. Start gently, with fifteen minutes of either Pilates or yoga every morning. You can increase duration and difficulty as you go along.”
“I think I’ll do Pilates.” Three years ago I used to regularly attend a class on Wednesday evening, but it gradually became filled with skinny women in skimpy outfits who didn’t look as though they needed the exercise. One by one the larger women left, until the session I was the only one attending. I didn’t turn up the week after and have never had the courage to go back. It was a shame because the older woman who taught the class had been an excellent teacher and though I hadn’t done it long enough for it to make a huge difference to my body, I’d felt fitter and younger. “I might even get myself a Pilates Reformer. I’ve always wanted one.”
“They are great machines, but start with a DVD first. Too many people buy exercise machines with good intentions and never use them. I’m not saying that you will be one of them,” he sa
ys, staring into my eyes. “But you can get great results without having one. So, start without one and see how it goes.”
“Alright.”
“You might find that you’re happy to just do enough to keep your body supple, but you don’t want to lose too much weight.”
“I thought losing weight was the whole point,” I protest.
“The point is you loving and accepting your body,” he tells me. “Once you start to focus on your body and what it needs, you might find that getting fit becomes a priority over getting slim. If you wear the right clothing to enhance your shape rather than hide it, you might find that you like the attention men give you too much to lose your curves.”
“The attention men give me?” I scoff. “Most of them act like I’m invisible.”
“I can guarantee, if you put on a form-fitting dress and a pair of heels, and walk down the streets, men won’t be able to keep their eyes off you.”
“Yes.” I laugh. “They’ll be thinking, cover yourself up, woman!”
“They’ll be thinking as I am right now, God, I want to fuck her!” He pinches my left nipple between his fingers and it immediately pouts. He stares at it for a moment as he reaches down and slides two of those same fingers up inside me. Then he bends his head to flick his tongue at my swollen nipple and lifts his head. “I love how responsive your body is.”
This time when he bends his head to it, he captures the whole areola and sucks my breast hard into his mouth. He pulls as though he wants milk and each tug sends sensations shooting to my centre.
“Yes.” I cup the back of his head and watch him.
Soon it becomes too intense, I’m circling my entrance on his fingers, trying to tell him that I want more. I know his penis is erect because I can feel it squashed against the side of my hip.
He ignores my silent plead and I finally reach down for it.
I run my hand up and down its length, marvelling at its softness, smoothness and hardness. I marvel too that not only had I been able to take the whole length inside me, but how much I wanted it again.
“Fuck me again, Roger,” I tell him when he doesn’t seem to get my tacit message.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He laughs as he takes his penis in hand and points it between my legs.
