I was consumed by the warm stretch of his girth and amazed by the way I gave so easily to his invasion, his way eased by my juices. I squeezed around him once I was fully seated, enjoying the slight give compared to the plastic rigidity of my vibrator. He throbbed in time to my squeezes and his heat matched mine. I was lost in glorious sensation.
I eventually moved. As good as it felt to be fully filled, there was a gap of need and to satisfy that, it was essential that I lifted and lost some of that completeness. It was the yo-yo from full to almost empty that felt close to perfection. It was when I found my rhythm, steady and fast but not quite a salsa, that I became aware of the hand between me and the soft give of his pelvis. His knuckle was raised and hit my clit when I dipped down, his fingers were spread around his cock so that they pressed against my soft folds when I was fully immersed in him.
I felt my orgasm approaching. I couldn't open my eyes even though I wanted to see his face, I couldn't do anything but hold on to his upper arms and power myself up and down. I wondered for a moment if he was watching me, my eyes screwed up, cheeks flushed, boobs bouncing wildly. I knew he was enjoying himself, his groans and the grip of his free hand on my fleshy hip told me that.
I shook and stumbled in my dance as intensity got the better of me. I held him deep inside as I came. I loved the rigidity of him inside me that did not budge while I throbbed and vibrated and screamed out the second orgasm gifted to me that day. Somewhere in amongst my rocking, yelling and revelling he came too, just as loudly.
I slid with little grace and much gravity to the bed beside him. He rolled over and rested an arm across my waist. I looked at him, took in his flushed face, his sparkling eyes.
"I'll have to split my pants every week if this is what comes of it." I gasped as I struggled to control my breathing.
"Well, if you promise to flash me your knickers each week I promise you I won't be able to help myself from ravishing you."
"Red rag to a bull?" I laughed.
"Exactly," he nodded and kissed me. I could see a new post-Zumba workout routine on my horizon and I liked it.
Girl Next Door
© Bella Blake
It was hardly the house of his dreams but with money so tight after the divorce it was the best Peter Harbrook could afford. He gazed at the dismal little bungalow and firmly told himself it wasn't that bad. His heart didn't agree with him, sinking firmly into his shoes.
The greying paint had cracked and peeled off the windowsills and doorframe, and there were tiles missing from the roof, but all four walls were intact and that was all he needed. Or so he told himself. Linda was probably laughing it up right now in the three-bedroom mock-Tudor house they'd shared during the course of their five-year marriage.
There was no sign of the removal van that was carrying his meagre possessions. He must have lost it somewhere on the journey. Knowing his luck it had probably taken a wrong turning out of town and was now miles away, leaving him with only the few bags of clothes he had in the backseat of his car.
Peter used his sleeve to scrub some of the grime away from the window so he could peer inside the house. He'd bought it at auction, in a desperate bid to secure a place to live now Linda had unceremoniously turfed him out, and even he had to admit it was pretty stupid to buy a property without having viewed it first. Still, the interior didn't look too bad. The living room was small but adequate, and though the cream carpet was looking a little grey, Peter hoped that was just dust. If it wasn't, he'd have to put up with a grey carpet.
Peter made his way towards the strip of garden at the back of the house, shielded from the street by a low brick wall and a gate that was more rust than iron. Pushing open the gate he was surprised to see the garden wasn't quite the jungle he'd been dreading. The grass could use a cut but it wasn't long enough to be hiding a contingent of wild animals or nasty surprises, and there were actually flowers growing in the beds. He didn't know what any of the flowers were but they looked nice. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all.
The garden was separated from the properties on both sides by a mid-height wooden fence but Peter could hear someone humming next door. Obviously his neighbour was home. He peeked over that fence and came face to face with the largest pair of buttocks he'd ever seen. The woman next door was kneeling over a flowerbed and her more than generous bottom – and the faded and frayed denim shorts that barely covered it – was sticking straight up in the air. She was humming tunelessly along to something Peter didn't recognise.
He tapped his knuckles on the fence to get her attention and cleared his throat. "Excuse me."
The woman started and turned around, sweeping a mass of blond curls off her face with a muddy hand. She also streaked dirt across her face in the process but that didn't seem to bother her. "Hi there. Are you my new neighbour?"
Peter nodded and stuck his hand out over the fence. The woman regarded him with an amused smile on her face then pushed herself to her feet so she could shake his hand.
"I'm Peter Harbrook," he introduced himself.
"Josephine Smith but call me Josie. Everyone does." She beamed, cheerfully pumping his hand up and down and leaving him with a very muddy palm. Apparently Josie Smith didn't believe in gardening gloves.
Peter studied her. She was an exceptionally large woman; the blue camisole she was wearing was a couple of sizes too small and the thin straps dug into her plump shoulders. She didn't seem to care. Her shorts were so short she might as well not have been wearing them. A work colleague of Peter's had once told him that fat girls had no right to wear shorts. At the time Peter had agreed with him simply to prevent an argument. But now he was faced with a fat girl in a pair of shorts, he found he couldn't take his eyes off her legs. Her thighs were so large they squeezed together when she walked, the skin dimpled with cellulite and Peter liked it. Linda had been obsessive about her figure, yo-yoing between every fad diet known to mankind. All it had done was left her hungry and ill-tempered with more angles than curves. But Josie – there wasn't a single part of her that wasn't curved. Even her muddy fingers were plump.
Suddenly she clicked those plump fingers in front of his face and Peter realised he was staring.
"Sorry, it's been a long day," he mumbled, hoping he could pass his gaping off as a moment of exhaustion.
Josie leaned over the fence to get a look at the street beyond Peter's new house. Her huge breasts rested on the fence, pushing them up almost to her chin. Peter swallowed and felt his cock jerk sharply to attention.
"You're moving in today?" she said and Peter nodded. "I don't see a removal van."
"I think it took a wrong turn somewhere. I'm sure it'll be along soon."
Josie swiped her curls off her face again. "Why don't you come inside and have a cup of tea? There's no point you hanging around in an empty house if your furniture isn't here yet."
She was still leaning on the fence and Peter was fighting to keep his eyes off the enormous swell of her breasts. "Sure, I'd like that," he managed to say.
Josie beamed again. "Great. Come on round the front and I'll let you in."
Easier said than done. Peter's cock was so stiff it hurt to walk. As he carefully hobbled to Josie's front door, he struggled to think unsexy thoughts. He didn't want to show up with a raging hard-on.
Josie opened the door before he could knock, and flashed him another smile. "Come on in."
Peter's eyes dropped to the undulating sway of her hips as she led him through the hallway to the kitchen. Nothing short of an ice-cold shower was going to get rid of his erection now and he had a feeling even that wasn't going to cut it. His reaction surprised even him. Before her dieting had reduced her to skin and bones, Linda had had a lovely figure, not quite slender but not quite rounded. It was one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place. He'd never looked at a woman of Josie's build and wanted her so fast and so intensely. But he couldn't help it. She was huge and she was gorgeous with her messy curls, dirt streaked
across her forehead and knees, and that mega-watt smile. Peter wanted to tear her clothes off there and then.
Josie poured tea into two mugs and handed one to Peter. The slogan on it read I am in shape. Round is a shape. It made him smile.
"You want some cake?" Josie held a plate aloft, crammed with various slices of cake.
"Um, sure." It wasn't just his intense attraction to Josie that was making him nervous, Peter realised, it was the vividness of her presence. She was so bright and bubby and cheerful, she seemed to overshadow everything around her.
He accepted the huge wedge of chocolate cake Josie thrust at him. At least she'd remembered to wash the muck off her hands. A look of bliss crossed Josie's round face as she bit into her own slice and Peter's cock strained against his jeans. Hurriedly, he looked away.
Josie chattered away between bites of cake, telling Peter in animated detail about the neighbourhood and the people that lived there. He just listened and nodded and tried not to picture eating chocolate cake from the valley between Josie's breasts. Every time a crumb landed there, he was overcome with the urge to lunge forward and lick it off. What was wrong with him? He felt like a horny schoolboy who'd just seen his first Playboy.
When he heard the sound of the removal van pulling up in the street outside, he felt a twinge of disappointment. He was enjoying Josie's company so much he didn't even care if his house had no furniture and he had to spend the night on the floor. It was worth it for more of her time. But he couldn't think how to tell her that without sounding like a creep. After all, he'd only just met her. If she knew how badly he was fantasising about seeing her naked, she might well kick him out and never invite him back in. She was the only thing that had seemed bright in the world since his divorce and he wasn't going to jeopardise that. He had no choice but to go next door and start unpacking.
The kitchen and bedroom windows both looked out onto the garden and Peter found he could see over the fence into Josie's garden. She was still out there while he wrestled with furniture, happily gardening away in her shorts and camisole. Her feet were bare, he noticed, twin rows of plump, pink toes. She had little bits of grass and dirt clinging to her feet.
He hoped gardening was a hobby she was fond of; that way he could watch her to his heart's content.
Everything seemed a lot darker once she finally laid down her trowel and disappeared into her house. Peter waited hopefully for another half hour but she showed no signs of re-emerging. He wondered if she was indulging in another wedge of chocolate cake. The memory of the crumbs falling onto her ample cleavage was enough to make him shudder with lust. There was something about her that made his whole body ache, his cock most of all.
He'd tried the cold shower technique since leaving Josie's kitchen, and had struggled to school his thoughts into nonsexual territory but it didn't work. It was like she had imprinted herself onto his brain; she was all he could think about.
When he finally retired to bed, he didn't even care that the wallpaper in the bedroom looked like a reject from the worst era of the Seventies, or that there was a hole in the skirting board that he suspected might be a mouse's doorway. It was hard to feel down about the state of the house with Josie living next door.
He wondered what she wore to bed. Maybe she went the traditional route with a long nightgown. He broke out in a cold sweat as he pictured Josie lying in bed, white satin draped across the exquisite folds of her body. Like some expensive gift begging to be unwrapped. Or maybe she didn't wear anything to bed at all, but sprawled naked among the sheets.
Peter's cock twitched. He was so hard it was painful and thinking about Josie naked was only making matters worse. He slid his hand into his boxers, grasping his rigid cock. It wasn't Josie touching him but he could at least think about her while he touched himself. He curled his fingers tighter round his shaft and started to pump his hand in a slow, steady rhythm. Josie's round face and brilliant smile filled his mind, the way her breasts and stomach strained against the too-small camisole she'd been wearing.
His breathing hitched and he quickened the pace. If Josie was here now, he'd slide that camisole down her shoulders, freeing those fantastic breasts. He wanted to taste her, to lick her all over, and listen to her moaning his name. Hot, heavy heat gathered deep inside him, his orgasm stirring to life. His free hand clutched the bed-sheets, fingers curling.
Josie, Josie, Josie, Josie. Her name repeated itself over and over in his head, a frantic mantra in time to his pumping hand. Orgasm boiled to the surface, fighting for release.
Once he'd stripped off Josie's camisole, he'd turn his attention to her shorts. He'd take more time with them, slowly dragging down the zip and easing them down her thighs. They hid the doorway to Shangri-La and something like that couldn't be rushed. He pictured her bared before him, the triangle of blonde curls between her legs. He arched his hips off the bed and came with a muffled cry, emptying himself into his hand. The orgasm was such a relief, such a delicious release from the aching stiffness that had plagued him since meeting Josie.
Peter flopped back onto the bed with a contented sigh, his hand sticky with his own juices. It wasn't how he thought he'd be spending his first night in the new house but at least he knew one thing. He was going to have good dreams tonight.
Josie Smith filled Peter's head with salacious dreams and she was the first thing on his mind when he woke up. He wished he could roll over in bed and see her lying beside him, the covers carelessly draped over her large frame. Small wonder his cock was stiff as a board this morning.
He rolled out of bed and padded over to the window, hoping Josie would be out there with her gorgeously enormous bottom sticking in the air. But her garden was empty. Peter huffed out a breath of disappointment.
His erection strained against the cotton prison of the boxers he'd worn to bed last night. It looked like another cold shower was in order. It didn't help. Standing under the icy jets, Josie was still all he could think about. If she was standing here with him, her nipples would be tight little beads, droplets of cold water sliding them off them and splashing onto her soft, round stomach. Peter clenched his fists, fighting the urge to grab his cock and frantically pleasure himself to the images in his head. He still had a lot of unpacking to do; there wasn't time for self-gratification. But he couldn't walk around all day with an erection he could hang a towel off.
The doorbell rang just as he was curling his hand round himself. Peter jumped and swore, colour scalding his cheeks as if someone had actually caught him in the act. He knotted a towel round his waist, and hurried to the door, silently cursing whoever was on the other side. Until he opened the door and found Josie standing on the doorstep. She was wearing the same shorts as the day before but her camisole was white today. It made Peter think of his fantasies involving her and the satin nightdress. His throat went dry as if he'd just swallowed dust.
"Hi," he said, awkwardly, holding onto his towel with one hand and praying like holy hell that she couldn't see the outline of his rigid cock.
"Morning," Josie beamed. She brandished a small basket at him. "I made breakfast muffins."
The freshly baked smell coming from the basket made Peter's stomach growl. There was no food in the house yet but he was hesitant about inviting Josie inside. Watching the sensuous way she devoured cake was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen and he wasn't sure he could handle a repeat performance.
He should have known Josie wasn't the sort of person who waited for an invite. She pushed past him into the house, trailing the smell of chocolate, vanilla and blueberries. Her hips and buttocks swayed with every step she took.
By the time he'd caught up with her in the kitchen she was already tucking into the muffins. Peter watched, mesmerised as she crushed a blueberry between her teeth, a drop of blue juice touching her lower lip. He wanted to lick it off.
"Which would you prefer, chocolate or blueberry?" Josie looked at him expectantly.
"You decide." It was the best answer his
lust-addled brain could come up with.
Josie promptly handed him a fat chocolate muffin. The cake was still warm, chunks of chocolate melting on the top. She took another bite of her own muffin, vanilla crumbs sticking to her lips and Peter swallowed. Forget self-gratification, he was going to come on the spot if she carried on with that.
"Um, maybe I should put some clothes on," he said.
Something sparked in Josie's eyes. "Why?"
Peter gaped at her, floundering for words. "Because I..."
Josie put the last bite of her muffin on the table. "You haven't offered to show me round yet, Peter."
"I haven't finished unpacking yet."
"I don't mind."
"Right. Okay." Peter set down his own muffin. "Well, this is the kitchen –"
"I'm more interested in the bedroom," Josie interrupted him again.
Peter's throat was so dry now it was like it had been bleached by a desert sun. He had this crazy idea that if she went into his bedroom, Josie would somehow be able to sense that he'd lain awake half the night thinking about her and touching himself.
But Josie wasn't waiting for him to lead the way. She was on her feet and moving through to the bedroom before Peter could even collect his scattered senses.
The bed loudly creaked as Josie sat down on it, her large frame causing the mattress to dip. Peter tried to swallow past the dryness in his throat. Seeing Josie sitting there, demure in white, with those gorgeously plump legs dangling over the edge of his bed – it was like his night-time fantasy come to life. She was staring at him and there was nothing demure in her eyes. They sparked with bright fire when she looked him up and down, her gaze slow, demanding.
"Lose the towel."
"W-what?" Peter almost collapsed against the doorframe.
Coming Together With Curves Page 9