Big Girls Do It Better

by Jasinda Wilder

  Fuck me sideways! The man is hung like a porn star! It was too good to be true, surely. He would let me get a glimpse, maybe let me suck him off--which I would gladly do right there and then--but that would be it. No way he'd take me back to his place and fuck me proper.

  Determined not to let such a golden opportunity go to waste, I touched him with my forefinger, just one reverent brush of the pad of my finger along the pre-come-glistening tip. He gasped, sucked in his belly and throbbed his hips into my hand.

  Oh, oh, oh my god.

  Touching his cock was like eating chips; I couldn't stop after just one. I had to have more, had to get both hands around him, and yes, he was a two-hand man. Maybe even two and half, because for a big girl I have small hands. I wrapped my fingers around his girth and shoved his boxers farther down with the heel of my hand so I could fit my other palm around him.

  He sucked in his breath and arched his back. "God, Anna. You're driving me crazy."

  "I like hearing you say my name." I didn't mean to say that, but it slipped out, and Chase didn't seem to mind.

  "Anna," he gasped.

  I smeared his pre-come on his cock with a hand-over-hand motion, and he writhed into my grip. He was nearly there, about to explode on my hands, and I wasn't about to stop. He put his hands on my ribcage, just beneath my breasts.

  "Yes," I whispered, "touch my tits."

  I felt the veins of his shaft pulsing under my touch. I dug one of my hands into his pants and cupped his heavy, tight testicles as I continued to work his length with the other hand. He was bucking up and down with his entire body, bending his knees and thrusting up with his entire torso, driving his cock through my slippery grip. His eyes were hooded and his breathing was coming in desperate gasps.

  I was determined to make sure he damn well never forgot this experience, even if it was all we'd ever have together. I didn't care about getting off myself, momentarily; I knew I could go home and break out Mr. Pinky McVibrator and use this memory to come at least once, if not twice. I was multi-orgasmic, if only with myself. No guy had ever made me come more than once, and most never did at all.

  "Anna, wait," Chase gasped, trying to back away. "This wasn't...I wanted to--with you--"

  I didn't let him get away. He curled in over his stomach and clenched his muscles; I knew it was time. I dropped to my knees, wrapped my lips around his head and sucked for all I was worth. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but thrust his cock into my mouth and shoot his load into me. He shot, and he shot, and he shot, and I took it all, tasting the smoky, salty thickness against my tongue and my throat and for once not minding at all, for once actually understanding those girls who claim to love giving head.

  I'll do it, every once in a while, just to make the guy feel good and to remind him who had the power, but I'd never enjoyed it before. I didn't dislike it, I just wasn't a "hooray, I'm sucking cock" kind of girl.

  But Chase...oh, he came beautifully. He stretched his mouth wide and arched his back, fluttering his lovely, pulsing cock into me, holding back, restraining himself from cramming himself down the back of my throat.

  When I'd milked him of every last drop, I tucked him back into his DKNY boxers, zipped up his pants and buttoned him up.

  "You have a beautiful cock," I told him, rising to my feet, "and you taste good too."

  I kissed him once, a fast, hard crush of the lips.

  "Thanks for a good time, Chase," I said.

  And with that, I turned and made my exit.

  "Wait," Chase growled, grabbing my arm. "You can't just leave. That wasn't what I--"

  I kept moving, despite his grip on my arm. "I have to finish my set."

  He grabbed my other arm, then, and pulled me forcefully back around to face him.

  "I wasn't done with you yet."

  I yanked my arm free, starting to angry that he'd ruined my exit, and was in the process of ruining my memory of him. "Let go, Chase. You got what you wanted, didn't you? I've got to go back to work."

  Chase's eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. "I didn't ask you to do that."

  I gritted my teeth. "Yeah, I know. You didn't ask for it, not in so many words, but guys like you know how to get what you want without asking for it. Especially from girls like me."

  "Guys like me." Chase frowned and squeezed my arm hard enough to make me wince.

  "Yeah. Guys like you. Talented, gorgeous, guys who can get anyone they want."

  "How do you know what I want? And what do you mean by girls like you?"

  I absolutely refused to answer that question. Storming out of the alley towards the front door, I rounded the corner just as my partner Jeff came looking for me. I haven't mentioned my partner yet, have I? Jeff...a stable, steady guy, a good business partner, better-than-average looking, and a great singer. We DJed together, splitting the profits and making quite a bundle. We'd never been more than friends and partners, even though I knew he had a crush on me. I wasn't willing to go there with him, not with all his baby-mama-drama. He and his baby mama, Amanda, were the on-again, off-again type of couple, and I didn't want any of that mess.

  "Everyone's waiting, Anna," Jeff said. He knew me well enough to see I was upset. "Is everything okay?"

  I was glad he hadn't come around the corner twenty seconds earlier; he wouldn't have done or said anything, but it would have hurt him to see me doing that to Chase, and I didn't want to lose a good partner.

  "I'm fine, Jeff. Don't worry about it." I turned him by the shoulders and pushed him back through the front door of The Dive.

  "Anna, wait." I felt Chase's hand on my arm. I spun around with my fist flying.

  Of course, he caught it like he had the first time. Thank god, Jeff was already inside, so he didn't see anything.

  "Chase, seriously. We both know the score here."

  "There's no score. Don't be like this. What you did felt great, better than great, but that wasn't what I was going for. I don't know why you're getting so upset, all of a sudden. I like you, I want--"

  "Anna, let's go!" Jeff stuck his head out the door, saw me stumble as Chase told me he liked me.

  "Hey, listen, buddy, I don't know what your game is, but Anna's not interested." Jeff thrust his chest out and strutted towards Chase, thinking he was defending me. Jeff was sweet, meant well, and was obviously fearless, since Chase was several inches taller and several pounds of muscle heavier.

  I pushed Jeff back inside. "It's fine, Jeff. He's not bothering me. He was just leaving."

  Chase's face darkened. "No I wasn't." He strode past me, ignoring Jeff completely. "You owe me a song, at least."

  Jeff raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged, stifling a sigh.

  We sang "Broken" by Seether and Amy Lee. I couldn't hold on to my conflicted feelings, not with Chase's dulcet growl braiding perfectly with my voice. The bar was silent as we sang, even the bartenders going still to watch. Tension rippled in palpable waves between Chase and I, propelling our performance into overdrive.

  Sometimes while performing time itself seems to stop when you hit your notes just right. The music glides between the pores of your skin to bubble through your veins in place of blood, and you can't help but clutch the mic with both trembling hands and let the song flow out of you like blood from a wound. In those moments, when the music has replaced everything and even awareness of your own body has faded, you can't even breathe, can't do anything but let the song own you, let the performance rocket through you. There's no people, no problems in your life, no buzz of alcohol in your blood or pain in your heart. Sharing that moment with another person...it's more intimate than sex. You and the other person lock eyes, bend at the waist to belt the notes into the mic and invisible sun-hot flames burn between you, linking you. You could be the only two souls alive in the world.

  When the song ended, I was exhausted, feeling as wrung out as if Chase and I had just gone three rounds in bed. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and neither of us kne
w how to approach it. The chemistry required to share a song like Chase and I just had, that was rare. You could harmonize perfectly with someone, and even give great performances together--like Jeff and I did every week--but to be able to join your souls together for the length of a song, and interpret the music and lyrics to have deeply personal meaning...you just didn't come across that every day.

  The next several numbers felt flat, even to me. The rest of the bar seemed to feel it, reluctant to take the stage and sing, not when the memory of Chase's and my song still rang loud in the small space.

  Eventually, a chant began. "Sing, Sing, Sing...."

  The whole bar caught on, until the chant was echoing off the ceiling and the patrons pushed Chase and I onto the stage.

  Jeff, ever the professional, stuck in a CD and sat back in the shadows.

  When the first notes pounded from the speakers, Chase and I rolled our eyes and sighed in tandem. Jeff had put on "I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)" by Meatloaf.

  We killed it. No one could breathe, and I think I saw a few teary eyes as Chase and I sang, the roiling emotions between us ratcheting up even further with every note. I hated Jeff for putting on this song. I was trying SO hard not get attached, not to let my emotions lead me to a broken heart, which I knew was all that waited for me on the other side of anything with Chase.

  The crowd went wild when the last note faded. We held hands and bowed, as if we were on stage at Harpos.

  Jeff put on fill music and I vanished out the side door. Chase followed, of course.

  "Chase, I can't--"

  "Come home with me."

  We spoke at the same time, and I was so shocked by his words that I could only stop, stunned. Then he kissed me. You know how in The Princess Bride it says in the history of the world there's only been five truly great kisses? Well, this one blew them all away. Yes, I know that's the next line from the movie, but I've never thought the kiss between Westley and Buttercup was all that great, for one thing, and for another, this kiss between Chase and I...the stars froze in the sky, and the moon went dark, and all the world stopped and stared, awed at the sheer, breathtaking passion blazing between us.

  At least, that's how it felt to me.

  When we broke apart, Chase pulled a business card from his back pocket which already had his address scribbled on it in neat, blocky capital letters. No phone number or email address, just his physical house address.

  "I'm going home," Chase said. "If you'd like to know what I want to do with you, come over after your set. If you don't show up, you'll never see or hear from me again. It's up to you."

  I took the card in trembling fingers. "Chase...I..."

  He kissed me again to cut me off. "It's up to you, Anna. If you're too afraid, I'll understand. Just remember, you never know what's possible until you risk finding out."

  And then he was gone, roaring away on a sleek black Ducati motorcycle.

  *

  I stood on the sidewalk in front of Chase's house. It was a modest one-story ranch-style home, a square of grass in front, a detached garage, cracked driveway and a tasteful lamppost in front. The front porch light was on, despite the fact that it was past three in the morning.

  I forced my feet to leave the sidewalk and take the steps up to the front door. My finger hesitated on the doorbell, and then, with closed eyes and a hammering heart, I pushed it.

  Chase was at the door within seconds, still in his leather pants but without his shirt.

  Holy hell. I'd felt the muscles of his stomach, had seen his biceps, but nothing could prepare me for the sight that greeted me through the storm door. Pure male perfection, cut muscles defined with artistic clarity, dusky skin taut and hairless, inked across the pectorals and biceps with stunning full-color red dragon wrapping entirely around his torso, writhing with every breath, every shifting of his muscles.

  I froze, unable to tear my eyes away. Chase opened the door, took me by the hand, and pulled me in. He'd meant for me to move past him, but I landed pressed against his hot skin and bulky muscles, hands slipping and sliding across his broad shoulders and ridged back, around to his sides and then his chest.

  "Why am I here?" I breathed.

  Chase grinned down at me. "Can't you guess?" He pulled me into the house, closing the front door with his foot.

  I shook my head. "Nope. I'm a terrible guesser." I pressed my lips to his shoulder blade, and then his neck. "Are we here for pretzels? I am a little drunk."

  "You don't seem drunk," Chase said. His hands were resting on my hips, letting me kiss his skin.

  "Not drunk, then. Tipsy. Enough to wonder if this is real."

  "It's real." He dragged his fingers through my hair, wrapping his fist into it near the nape of my neck.

  He tilted my head backward so I was looking up at him, lips parted in anticipation of his kiss.

  "I must be dreaming," I said.

  He kissed me, and it wasn't quite the kiss he'd given me in the parking lot a few hours ago, but it was close.

  "Your lips don't feel like a dream." He ran his strong hands across my mini-skirted backside. "Your ass doesn't feel like a dream. It feels real enough to me."

  "Are you sure? There's an awful lot of fabric in the way," I said.

  "True. We should fix that." Chase's fingers explored the skirt until he found the zipper, tugged it down, slipped his hands between the skirt and my skin to push it down.

  His hands on my bare skin felt like tongues of fire along my flesh. I couldn't help a moan from escaping my lips. Chase buried his nose against my neck at the sound, digging his fingers into the flesh of my ass. I was wearing a thong, a bit of blue fabric across my vag with a few strings around my hips and down my asscrack. He traced the line of the strings, dipping down between the globes of my butt to cup each cheek, then up to my stomach.

  "Lift your arms up," he said.

  I complied without thinking. He was commanding me, and I normally hated being ordered around, but the gentle promise in his voice had me raising my hands over my head. He drew my shirt over my head, leaving me standing in the middle of his living room clad in only a matching bra and panties. Chase stepped back away from me.

  "God, you're beautiful," he said.

  "Okay, sure. Shut up and kiss me again."

  "I want to look at you first." Chase stopped just out of arm's reach. "You're a goddess."

  I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right." I planted my hand on my hip and put my weight on one leg, posing for him even as my mouth betrayed me.

  Chase went from gazing appreciatively to gripping my arms in anger within the space of an eyeblink. "You're beautiful. You're perfect. I wouldn't change a thing about you."

  "You're hurting my arms," I said. "You're sweet, but I"m a bit self-conscious about my size."

  Chase loosened his grip, but didn't let go. His eyes bored into mine. "Never, ever say that about yourself again, Anna. You. Are. Beautiful." He stepped into me, and now his skin was brushing against mine, the leather of his pants rough against my legs, his bulge hard and thick against my stomach.

  He took me by the hands and led me down a short, narrow hallway to the master bedroom, a simple, tasteful space, light and airy and masculine, neat and smelling of candles.

  He'd lit candles. The man had lit candles. A dozen of them on his dresser and on the trunk at the foot of his bed. I melted.

  "Why are you doing this for me?" The words were choked from my lips.

  Chase kept pulling me towards the wide bed, covered with a simple comforter and a few pillows. "Because I like you. Because I want you. Because you deserve it."

  "No I don't. Not with you."

  "Why not?" He stopped pulling and stood holding my hands.

  I couldn't meet his gaze, kept my head down and stared at his bare feet. "Because I'm..." I drew a deep breath and forced the words past quivering lips. "Because I'm...a big girl."

  Chase's fingers clenched mine, and his eyes went from fiery with lust to wavering with
sudden understanding and something awfully like compassion.

  "Big?" His voice was incredulous. "You think I couldn't want this with you, just because you're not a size zero. Unbelievable."

  He kissed my shoulder, the right one, on the round curve where my arm began.

  "You're perfect the way you are, Anna. You're a work of art." He kissed my chest, just above my left breast. "Don't ever, ever change. Don't ever let anyone tell you you're anything less than a glorious, beautiful sex goddess. Look at me, Anna." His voice was gentle, but firm. He touched my chin and forced me to obey. His eyes were burning with the fiery lust once more. "Listen to me."

  "No. Just shut up and fuck me already." I looked away, watched a candle flicker.

  "I don't want to fuck you, Anna. I mean, I do, but I want more to do so much more than that."

  "Don't mess with me, Chase. This is supposed to be easy. I know what this is. It's sex. One night of hot monkey sex, and then you go back to your life with a sexy little skinny bitch who you get it on with in all sorts of hot positions I could never do."

  "You don't know shit, if that's what you think."

  The tone in his voice pulled my eyes up to his once more.

  "I don't even know your last name," I said.

  "Delany." He unhooked my bra with one dexterous hand.

  He brushed the shoulder straps off and the bra fell into his waiting hand. He set it aside and gazed at my breasts.

  "Chase Delany," I whispered, as he leaned in towards me.

  "That's me. And what's your last name, sweetness?" He put his lips on my chest, an inch beneath my throat, and I instinctively arched into his hot, wet mouth.

  "Devine."

  He stopped at looked up at me. "Seriously? Your name is Anna Devine?" His mouth returned to my flesh, and this time his lips found the rising mound of my breast. "You really are a sex goddess, then, Anna Devine."

  "I'm not. I'm--"

  He straightened and his gaze nearly knocked me over in its intensity. "Say it." He took one my tits in his hand, hefting the significant weight of my thirty-eight triple D breast, then the other, running the pad of his thumb across my taut nipples. "Say it, Anna Devine. Say, 'I'm a sex goddess.'"