by Ra's Elf.
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.