August 26, 2003

Erotic story: (With kind permission from Rasel)
Fantasy: BDSM, Strapon, BBW

I had the odds for finding a goodly-sized lady to take me from behind down to a science. It was all in the very first glance they gave, and I could tell in mere seconds who could and would, who might and might not, and who never in a week of Leap Year April Fool's Days would even consider it.

Never trust a gal who couldn't look you in the eye. Those were the ones who liked to be on the receiving end. They were in the market for abuse enabling co-dependents. That, or they were out and out insane. They might up and castrate you. Might just kill you by tipping the heater into your bath water. Avoid 'em.

Always avail yourself of the lady who shot you a look you could feel in your bowels, the kind of look that rocketed in between your eyes and ricocheted off the inside of the back of your skull, straight down your spine. Worth their weight in lubricating cream, almost every time. But not if they held the look – duration could be a bummer. Rather, the look was fast, terribly intense, and like a shot in the dark. Your dark. Rattle your world and then some, but brief. Into your soul and gone, in an instant.

And the wonderfully odd thing about it was that those who could probe you with their eyes that way could also read your vulnerability just as quick. The reason the whole transaction was almost instantaneous was because such ladies didn't even care to play. No – "play" was not exactly on their agenda. They wanted to do you. They didn't flirt, they didn't take casual flyers, and they could tell with that single deep probing glance if your ass was theirs. It saved a lot of time.

I met the bulky Janine, for instance, at the supermarket, in the produce aisle. I looked up from fingering the lettuce and plums and had to look away immediately – it was like getting slapped. Heavy-breasted Maureen, on the other hand, was several people ahead of me in line at the track – glanced my way as she turned back away from the betting window, and it was like getting kicked. You just never knew where or when such women would appear, but you always knew it when they did.

Broad-beamed Cindi was a seasoned gal, mid to late 40s, and she was the kind that liked to be eaten out right after she laid waste to some lucky guy's ass. Met her at a Super America when I stopped for gas – she wore an old yellow front-button male dress shirt over very tight pink short shorts, and she lifted her leg as she bent over to put the hose back in the pump after filling up. I couldn't take my eyes off her as she looked over her shoulder. Her sudden quick glance over at me as she held the pose burned through me like hot oil. She knew me instantly, and I knew she knew. Not a shadow of a doubt.

It was a hot afternoon in late June and Cindi was sweating so much there was a big wide moisture shadow all across her back that let me know she was not wearing a bra . . . I wanted to go right over and press the flat of my tongue against that sweaty broad back of hers. She had a bit of a belly on her and her legs were stout but strong. I followed her into the store to pay for the gas, my eyes helplessly glued to the spell of her powerful hindquarters rolling beneath those short shorts. I stood in line directly behind her with my head bowed and my eyes helplessly downcast, covertly drinking her in. Just before her turn to pay, she turned her head slightly and told me, in a low tone of complete command, "Park yours around to the side and get in my backseat." When it was my turn to pay, my hand trembled as I forked over the cash. Then I went out and parked it. She was at the wheel and I climbed into the backseat of her big sedan without so much as a word. She never glanced even once into her rearview, and five minutes later we pulled into the garage and the garage door swung down with a whirring sound.

She didn't even take off her shorts, just strapped on the harness over those skin-tight pink shorts and told me to get on my knees. She told me to get it wet as she presented the business end of her strap-on, jamming its so-wide head into my mouth. As I did so, I stared up as she unbuttoned her shirt . . . her heavy bosoms swung free down toward me and I longed to replace the head of that strap-on with her dark wide nipples. Smiling down at me with a smile that was subtly touched with equal parts contempt and sheer assertive lust, she turned me over the workbench and reached around and unfastened my trousers and they slid down my legs. She yanked down my briefs and lodged her strap-on against the crease of my ass cheeks. There was a large tube of lubricant on the bench and she greased me up thoroughly. We didn't even know each other's names.

I groaned as the thing slowly sank in. Cindi took hold of my hips and began to grind into me, increasing the speed of her thrusts gradually as I grunted and moaned in unspeakable delight. I arched my back and spread my legs, going into a high-end semi squat to receive her tool, concentrating on letting my sphincter go slack to take in its length. My hole grew wide as I welcomed every inch of it. It slid in and out easy as you please then, like the best hot summer afternoon's dream I'd ever had. I could feel her nicely-sized belly slapping against my lower back as she increased her vigor. She whacked at my cheeks with the flat of her palm on the shallow part of the motion. And then she reached around and up and took my nipples between her fingers, pinching and tugging at them. Her breath was a loud rasp as the rhythm of her strokes became intense ... I was also panting, like a bitch giving birth, and when her teeth sank into my shoulder I involuntarily shot thick streams of my cum out in several long and forceful spurts, my cream spilling and puddling on the workbench. And even though her action had drained me of every drop I had, she continued to amuse herself. In and out, but more lazily now, like in a dream. A tear of sincerest gratitude ran down my face -- when you can come that way without even having your prick touched once, you know you've been had by an expert. Butt-fucked straight to paradise …

After many long moments of continuing her action in my ass that way, she finally pulled out and stepped away from me and stripped off the strap-on. I turned and with a glad and weary sigh slid to my knees as she stepped out of her shorts and she wasn't wearing any underwear and she took my head by my hair and pulled my face flush up between those sturdy thighs of hers, straight into her hungry cunt. She was sweaty from the day's heat and from the vigor of the fucking she'd just given me and her cunt tasted very sweaty and also very juicy, for she was the kind of gal who got a flow on when she was aroused and to give her head was also to swallow her juices and I did that greedily, taking the taste of her down my throat, quenching my own thirst with the hot liquid of her yawning pussy ... she used my head roughly, wiping herself deeply with my face, squeezing my head between those thighs. "Suck it up ... yes! Get that tongue up in there ...!" I don't know how many times she came but it seemed she was getting just exactly all that she required. She straddled me so thoroughly my chin was pressed into the cleft between her ass cheeks and then she forced my head even deeper, so that my tongue was rimming her anus and she pulled me close by my hair as she squatted her ass onto my mouth, forcing me to press my entire tongue deeper and deeper ... she had the loveliest way of nipping at my tongue with her sphincter and I could have continued tongue-fucking her ass that way for a long time, but it was not to be. Still holding me by my head hair, she lifted upward and away, commanding me to keep my mouth wide open. I knew what was coming and was eager to receive it, but when the hot jets of her tangy urine sprayed forcefully down my throat it was a bitter and intoxicating shock and I gratefully swallowed every hot drop.

She dropped me off at the Super America, told me her name, told me I was a real sweet piece of ass and that she'd like to get up in me again some day. I told her it was my pleasure, and she said, "I know." Then she told me never to go back to that house, that it was where her ex lived, a building contractor she'd divorced several months ago. Said he was a mean man. She said she liked to take dates there for afternoon quickies, that it gave her a thrill when they shot their loads against his workbench. Said I was the third date she'd taken there that week, but that she wouldn't be taking anybody back in there for awhile. She said it was time to let the ex clean up his bench. Laughed when she said it, and so did I. When I asked where I could see her again, she shot me The Look ... it was like getting my balls squeezed and it made my prick twitch and immediately swell back fully to life. I stood beside her sedan as she revved its powerful engine. She glanced down at the bulge I had just sprouted with a leering and highly self-satisfied sort of smirk on her face: "I'll keep my eye out for you, Lover. Later." And with that she pulled out into traffic and was gone.

No courtship. Not a single pleasant word, till it was all over. All in a glance, like I say. Oh, what a glance though! I had it all down to a science, you bet.

Rasel
© Copyright: Rasel. All rights reserved

Rasel Biography:
Am a performer of jazz poetry and a laborer in the fields of BBW-centric Domme erotica; from a young age I have been spellbound by strong, full-figured Ladies who are assertive and controlling in their sexual proclivities -- it was an older woman who first taught me to worship Her with oral devotion, I was a young adolescent at the time, and I have remained in thrall to such women throughout my adult life. My stories always depict strong, demanding women, and the males in my stories are always used and dominated by such women.