by Ruby Madden
Grace was mesmerized, it was the second time a man had fed her something delicious and sweet. It was as if he was hitting an oral G-spot. She wondered if there was such a thing? If there wasn’t, she surely felt as if he’d hit something, whatever it was.
“Grace, you are so sexy and beautiful… Watching you, how much you enjoy this. It’s incredibly arousing.”
Grace looked at him a bit sheepishly. “I have to say, I like having you feed me... Your pie is in a word, bliss. But having you give it to me? Watching me? This is pure heaven.”
Greg leaned back, contemplating their sensual exchange. “I’ve been waiting to meet someone like you. A woman who can just enjoy her food and herself.”
Grace blushed, “I’ve always been ashamed of my appetite. I usually just eat alone.”
“I’m not surprised. You mean our crazy thin-obsessed, diet culture hasn’t completely shamed you, a woman, from enjoying food?”
Grace smiled at his sarcastic snarky-ness, “Secretly, I think about getting a little bit bigger. Not like huge or anything, but just plumper, more filled out. Does that sound gross to you?”
Greg studied her, fighting the urge to just devour her himself since he knew she was sharing something important about herself with him. It was succulent, hearing a woman, a very sexy, sensual woman reveal this secret desire about herself.
“Not at all, it tells me that you’re in touch with yourself, what you want and what you like.” He reached out and rubbed his finger along her profile. “Besides, you’re so lovely Grace that even at three hundred pounds, you’d still be the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Grace blushed furiously. “Well, let’s not let this get out of control. I’m just thinking like twenty-five pounds.”
Greg’s eyes glanced over her frame. “It’s all about how you carry yourself, whatever the weight or what the scale says. I don’t think women realize that plenty of men could give a shit. Sure, there are the assholes out there who are only into model-types. But the rest of us? The rest of us are attracted to women, real women. Women with curves, hips, breasts and some meat on their bones. Women who like their bodies and have an appetite for life.”
“Really?” Grace squeaked out, truly intrigued by what Greg was sharing. “Tell me more.”
“Sure, but I want you to keep enjoying that pie I made.” He winked at her playfully, and began caressing her thigh. He inched in closer to her, his taller frame eliciting goose-bumps up and down her body as she felt him getting closer.
She reached for another bite and shamelessly enjoyed it while he moved in even closer. It was Greg’s turn to reach under Grace’s shirt. As his long, lean fingers glided over her skin, she couldn’t help but moan. He gently began to unbutton her shirt and pulled it away.
Grace had selected a satin, canary yellow bra that cupped her ample breasts beautifully. Her buxomness spilling everywhere. Greg did something altogether unexpected, but sweet and charming. He buried his face between her cleavage. Grace giggled and heard him murmur, “Now THIS is heaven.”
He reached around her and unclasped her bra. As he pulled it away and off of her, the fullness of her tits and erect nipples grazed his skin. For both of them, it pulled the trigger on the sexual tension between them and kicked them into high gear.
She hungrily pulled him to her, their torsos smashing into one another. Grace soon found they angled into and with each other in ease on her sofa. She laid back and as she did, managed to get her legs wrapped around his lean frame. She was still wearing her pants and so was he, but this didn’t stop the kissing or grinding that started with a life all its own. It was as if they were both trying to devour each other as fast as possible, so consumed with lust and need.
Somehow, despite drowning in much deserved and delayed desire, Grace found the strength to pause.
“Greg, there is something very important that I need to share with you.”
Despite himself as well, Greg paused, waiting for Grace. “Ok?” He said gently, sweeping a blonde curl from her face and tucking it behind her ear.
“There’s no easy way to share this, so I’m just gonna come right out and say it. This is really hard for me, so please be – please be, understanding, okay?” Her voice broke a bit.
“Anything Grace, I’m completely at attention with you.”
Grace giggled, feeling his hard member through their clothing. “I know.”
Greg smiled at her, that naughty twinkle in his eye giving her the courage to continue.
“I was – I was, raped. When I was seventeen. It’s been very difficult for me to be intimate with a man. I’m a bit inexperienced…”
Greg’s expression changed dramatically, but endearingly. “Oh Grace…”
Grace put her finger to his lips. “Please understand, I don’t want to dwell on the past. But I needed you to know so that you can be patient with me. Is that okay?” She asked, her eyes pleading for understanding, maybe some compassion or sympathy.
Greg was quiet, fully taking in what she’d just shared while studying her face. He then nodded slowly. “Absolutely. I’m so, so sorry to hear this. But I’m glad you shared this. That you feel comfortable enough with me to do so. Very flattered, actually. Just let me know what you need. Just say it and it’s done. To stop, to continue, to go slow. Whatever. Okay?”
Grace nodded demurely. It felt like she’d just shared the most difficult thing ever and had requested something requiring the most bravery ever.
The weight of the world was lifting off her shoulders…
Grace reached forward and pulled Greg back to her, kissing him slowly, building up the passion again. Their pace was slower, and more sensual. They lingered on each other, enjoying each small part.
Grace reached down to undue the top button to Greg’s jeans. She wanted to feel his cock, his tool. She wanted to feel it in her hands. To touch his cock-head. To circle the rim with the underside of her thumb.
“You’re sure?” Greg asked, whispering naughtily into her ear.
“Yes…” Grace responded breathily.
Greg lifted himself as Grace then undid his jeans. She discovered he was wearing boxers beneath and she easily found his hardening cock, freeing it from the opening. She rubbed the palm of her hand up and down the length of it. It’s velvety, throbbing, warmth was tantalizing to the touch. She then gripped and encircled his member and slowly began to jack him.
Greg moaned.
Grace gauged Greg’s responses, balancing with an exploratory touch that equally pleased him.
“Good god, Grace…” Greg said breathily, lust causing his eyelids to float from closed to half open.
“You like?” Grace said quietly, breathing her breath into his opened mouth. So close, so near to his lips.
“Yes.” He said.
“Greg, you are so sexy to me...”
Greg reciprocated her exploratory caress and slowly undid her jeans. He slipped his hand past the very delicate barrier of the canary-yellow thong she wore and parted her folds to pet her pussy lips. He took his time and explored her thoroughly, using her creamy center to lube her up before petting and teasing her clit.
Grace gasped when he found her clit’s equally swollen head and he circled it tenderly. He was closely watching her face, assessing her enjoyment.
“You tell me what you like and don’t like, okay?” He asked softly.
Grace nodded, and felt her legs parting wider for his tantalizing caresses. As he continued to circle and please her clit with his thumb, he probed her gently.
Grace gasped in delight, but yielded to his wandering hand.
“Gaaawd that feels good…” She panted out, clutching to him in carnal need that surprised her.
Slowly, but surely Greg man-handled her towards orgasm. When she crested, disbelieving it was happening, the strength of her orgasm surprising her. Not wanting to disturb her neighbors, she pushed her face into his torso as she came, her muffle
d yelps of delight burning right into his tattooed flesh.
Once her quivering muscles finished spasming to completion, she disentangled herself from Greg and stood. Grace peeled off her pants and thong, then grasped Greg’s hand, pulling him up from her sofa.
She noted the look of lustful admiration on Greg’s face and it sent a shiver through her. Like electricity.
“I want you fuck me. In my bed. Now.” She said.
Greg leaped up and allowed Grace to lead him into her bedroom where she pushed him down on her bed. She pulled off his jeans and boxers, a Cheshire cat grin on her face.
“Condoms?” Grace asked, amazed at her own brazenness, her own boldness. She was done with being timid and sex-starved.
“Pockets of my jeans.” Greg answered, watching her in aroused awe.
Grace searched and found them. She placed all but one on the nightstand. Standing, she peered at him a bit before crawling on top of him and straddling him. Grace opened the packet and he helped her put the condom on his hard cock.
Grace slid herself on him, taking it slow and relishing the feel of him. Every penetrative inch. Appreciating his girth and length as his hard cock pried her open. Tight and snug in her warm, wet pussy – aching with need. Her hands planted on his chest, she began to grind her hips downward and forward until he completely filled her.
For a moment, she sat still, impaled by him and felt the fullness of his cock deep within her.
The warmth. The power. The masculine desire and strength.
She let out a delicious exhale, all the expectant holding of breath finally released.
Then the urge to fuck him took over and she began to ride him, rocking gently at first. Raising her hips up and down, appreciating the sensation of being so completely filled by him.
In sync, their pace complimenting the other, Grace rode Greg for all she had, making up for lost time. Her arousal building and growing. Blooming around Greg’s cock.
“Fuck this feels sooo gooood...” She moaned breathlessly, her lids heavy with ecstasy.
She ground herself into him, relentlessly chasing the impending orgasm. Greg’s hips reaching up to rhythmically meet her pussy.
She admired that look of hunger and desire on Greg’s face. Mingled with carnal need and intense focus on her, her body, how she moved.
“Fuuuuuuuuuucccccccckkkk…” She cried out when it finally crested and the climax claimed her. Collapsing on his chest, she breathed heavily and deeply, slowly recovering from the intense ride.
Greg continued thrusting into Grace, her orgasmic spasms contracting and squeezing his cock, triggering his own orgasm. He moaned, gently biting into the nape of her neck, his face buried in her luscious blonde curls.
“I’m coming!” He cried out.
Grace felt his intense spasm, his twitching cock and then the inevitable, gentle way it receded before he pulled out of her, disposing the condom into a trash-basket by her bed.
“My god, you’re delicious…” Greg uttered, panting.
Grace giggled, delighted with him. “You too.” She said, trailing her fingers listlessly along the side of his torso.
Within the dynamic, for Grace, was that this man had expressed appraise for her sensual appetite. Like a horse at a derby race, Grace was unloosed and galloping away as fast as all of her bottled-up desires would allow her.
Grace was beginning to finally feel - free. Free from the shame, free from the guilt, free from whatever had been eating her up inside.
{ CLAY }
Clay sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, restless and sad. No matter how he sat, there was no way to get comfortable. He wasn’t sure if it was the chair itself, or simply his own discomfort with the entire situation he was facing.
His Father was sleeping, snoring softly. Clay watched his surviving parent’s chest rise and fall, in the rhythm that all enter the world with.
He will stop breathing soon… I can’t believe he didn’t tell me! What was he thinking? Why?
Upon first arriving to San Francisco, once Clay had made his way to his Father’s home, he found the house empty. Instead, he found his Father admitted to the cancer ward at the hospital.
His Father, unlike what he’d told Clay, was actually in the final stages of liver cancer. Clay was stunned that his Father had borne this burden on his own and had lied to his only child about it. Reeling with more emotion and despair than Clay had experienced in a long time, not since his Mother’s passing five years earlier, battling another form of cancer - breast and lymphoma.
“Dad, I would have come sooner, had I known. I am so, so sorry…” Clay uttered quietly, out loud, mostly to himself and the eerie silence of the hospital room. His Father slept on.
Clay sat silently, defeated. A tear trickled down his cheek. He’d never felt more alone in his entire adult life. His Mother was already gone, his Father was about to be gone from this world and he didn’t have a lover, a girl-friend, a wife - no one. No one to talk to. No one to lend a sympathetic or supporting shoulder.
He sat silently, watching his Father’s gentle breathing rise and fall. He observed his noble face, now uncomfortable with the ongoing presence of pain, grayish with pending death. Clay pulled the chair forward, closer to his Father’s bed and placed his hand on top of his Father’s hand, resting on the bed, at his side.
Still warm. Still there. Still alive.
His Father stirred awake, a smile breaking across his face once he recognized Clay was there, beside him.
“My boy, you made it.” His voice was gruff, and weak.
“Yes, yes I did.” Clay said softly, a frog caught in his throat, a near-sob attempting to break loose.
“Now, now. None of this. Not yet.” His Father squeezed his hand.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me? Sooner, that is? I would have been here for you. I would have come…” Clay’s voice trailed off, anguish closing off his throat.
Clay’s Father watched him closely, and took in a long, deep breath.
“It’s better to let the living do their thing, than to distract them with the claws of death. I saw what it did to you while your Mother was fighting this damnable disease. The toll of two years’ worth of treatment. I was damned if I was going to do that to you. Spread it out over years.”
“But Dad!” Clay cried out.
“No!” His Father gently barked back. “It was for your own good. Now my passing will be quick and you can grieve properly, like a normal person should. Not stretched out over three years.”
Clay was shocked. There was nothing left to say. Nothing left that he could do. There was really only one thing left to say or do.
“I love you Dad. I love you so much.”
“I know you do, son. I love you. I only have one request of you.”
“A request?” Clay asked.
“Yes, I know you’re ambitious. You’ve always been driven. Like your Mother in that way. But I want you to promise me you will find a woman, a partner, someone you can love and be with. It’s time. Life is better with someone to commit to. Someone who loves you.”
Clay pulled away, sitting straight in his chair. “What makes you think I don’t want that?”
His Father let out a gentle laugh. “Hmmpph! Son… taking women to bed is different than being in a relationship, a partnership. You have barely committed to anyone that I’ve known or seen in this young adult life of yours.”
Clay felt reprimanded but he knew what his Father said was true.
“Actually, there is someone. I met her recently. But it’s the damnedest thing… It’s embarrassing to explain.”
A bright smile broke across his Father’s face. “Really?”
Clay shook his head. How was he going to explain this, to his Father? He stood up and went to the other side of his Father’s bed where there was a pitcher of water. He poured himself a glass, took a sip. He sat down again and shared how he’d met Grace. How the day was magical, as i
f destined. Then he shared how it had ended.
“What did you do, son?”
“There was nothing I could do, I had no idea what her full name was or where she worked even. All I knew was what she liked. And so, I trolled those places, more frequent than I dare admit, hoping to run into her again. I felt like a damned fool, but I did it!”
They both started laughing, hilariously and loudly. Clay was glad that he could break up some of the seriousness of the day, finally. This was how it usually was between him and his Father. Light-hearted, playful, humorous.
“So, a few months came and went. I was getting close to giving up and just happened to stop at a local chocolate shop downtown. There she was, the gods of serendipity blessed me again…”
“And?” His Father gently encouraged.
“I had to realize, recognize that when she ran off into the night, the first time I met her, that meant something important. She’d been hurt before. Someone had been careless with her. I didn’t want to repeat that mistake. I did the gentlemanly thing.”
“What’s that, son?”
Clay took a deep breath, locking eyes with his Father. “I gave her the choice. I gave her my phone numbers and told her that it was up to her to call me, to contact me. I didn’t ask for hers. Or her last name. Or where she worked. I left it entirely in her hands. For her to choose.”
“And?” His Father was eager to hear what happened next.
Clay shook his head, his mouth closing in a firm line. “I haven’t heard from her.”
His Father’s eyes spilled out disappointed sympathy. He took in a deep sigh.
“Awwhh, son…”
“The thing of it is, I can feel her. I genuinely think we’re meant to be together. I just can’t figure out why we keep running into each other, only for it to not move forward? What does that mean, Dad?”
His Father peered at him closely.
“Some women have been hurt, are broken, Clay. Sometimes, we have to be patient for them. She’s obviously in a situation or has an agony or some secret. Something that’s preventing her from being able to move forward, make that step or that leap of faith. It’s not you, son.”
