Message-ID: <54236asstr$1153717802@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Joris Huysmans" <joriskhuysmans@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} SATIN SHEETS, OR: SHE SLEPT WITH THE WRITER (MF, BBW, rom)
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Date: Mon, 24 Jul 2006 01:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Here's this week's story, an erotic reverie.  Always glad to hear comments 
at joriskhuysmans (circle-a) hotmail (point) com.


SATIN SHEETS, OR: SHE SLEPT WITH THE WRITER (MF, BBW, rom)

by Joris K. Huysmans

A foot sticks out from the edge of the bed, chubby little pink toes with red 
toenails on a small puffy foot.  The rest of you is covered, satin sheets 
curving like rolling hills over your voluptuous body, blonde frizzy curls 
cascading over your face.  Daylight has begun to light the room, but you are 
still asleep; only the foot looks ready for play.  Hours ago I was sucking 
those toes as I gave you what you wanted, what you begged for.  Now they 
just hang out in space, being adorable.  Calling me.

I sit down next to your foot and rub my hand along your sturdy thigh, the 
satin sheet in between.  You stir, slightly, and as you do so your big round 
breasts roll around under the sheets.  I can't quite make out their shape 
but the sight of them jiggling about under there is tantalizing.  My cock 
begins to rise and as it does the head brushes against the bottom of your 
foot.  Eyes still closed, you smile when you realize what's touching you.  
You wriggle your large curvy bottom against the bed, scooting down to where 
your foot can get a better feel, and begin massaging my crotch with the ball 
of your foot.

I continue rubbing my hand against your thigh and follow the line of it up 
to your hip, feeling the broad hips, then the scratchy triangle of fur under 
the satin.  My cock is erect now and your foot is pressing it against my 
stomach, rubbing the glans.  It's a little too rough-- your foot hasn't done 
this often, I imagine-- so I pull the sheet back a little to reveal your 
other foot and, in the process, one of your big round breasts.  I move my 
leg onto the bed and position my cock between your feet.  You smile even 
more broadly and begin to rub my cock between two gorgeously chubby feet, 
toes extended, the line of each calf rounded and muscular at the same time, 
like a dancer on point (Alexandra Beller more than Margot Fonteyn, 
admittedly).

I savor the feeling of your soft, supple feet massaging my stiff cock for a 
few moments, looking at your beauty as you lay there, eyes closed but 
between sleep and wakefulness.  The multitudes of curls, going this way and 
that on the pillow.  The cherubic face, round cheeked and full-lipped, the 
little mischievous smile, the baby fat under your chin which I nuzzled while 
I was thrusting into you so that I could enjoy your scent.  The sweet-sweaty 
smell you gave off as you worked up that sweat riding me thrust for thrust.  
And then the one breast that peeks out to look at me, full and voluptuous, 
sliding off to one side, making a little chubby triangle of flesh between 
arm and chest, a soft spot along the side of your ribcage, good for stroking 
as I had you face down and licked at you from behind.

I would love to come on your chubby little toes, the mental image of them 
sticking out of the bed with stripes of white cum is quite entrancing, but I 
have other things in mind and so I slide up the bed now, kissing your soft 
neck, the upper part of your chest.  I slide the sheet down over the other 
breast and see them both now, round and ripe, sliding off their perches with 
their weight.  I nuzzle the place in between and rub them against my face, 
so large and heavy, so soft.  They are enough to almost cover my face with, 
exquisitely big, yet delicate, ending in a small pink-red point which I lick 
and suck at.  You wriggle appreciatively against the bed.

I keep moving down.  Now to your belly, soft and smooth, I rub my face 
against its velvety expanse.  It was one of the things that attracted me 
first to you, in the marketing meeting to discuss promotional tie-ins for 
"The Sapphic Pirate Miranda"-- my lesbian pirate story that had become a 
nationwide sensation.  You were showing me concept sketches for Happy Meal 
toys, but all I could see was you, exactly the sort of voluptuously luscious 
woman who my stories were about.  When I suggested that we meet for dinner, 
you knew that here, at last, was a man who truly appreciated the beauty and 
sexiness of a full-sized woman such as yourself.  Dinner was short, the ride 
back to my hotel excruciatingly long, the time after that... unforgettable.

Now I am between your legs.  I spread them apart, I feel heat coming from 
your moist pussy.  The lips are still inflamed from the pounding I gave 
them, I can tell as I lick the outer edges gently, opening them up with my 
tongue.  Your juices are thick, still mingled with my own.  It doesn't 
bother me, it excites me, and I dive in further, feeling you spread apart as 
I run my tongue up the hot, slippery labia...

....but it's too much for you, you're tender after last night and you push my 
head away regretfully.  Your wetness (ours, now that I think of it) still on 
my face, I move up next to you as you turn on your side and we kiss, less 
hungrily than last night, but savoring the taste of each other on our faces. 
  I run my hand along your hip, enjoying your mountainous curves as they 
slope from the broadness of your hips and the roundness of your bottom to 
the strong, sturdy thighs at one end, the soft ticklish tummy at the other.  
I rub the top of my hand along your round tummy and you take my cock in your 
hand, rubbing the head of it gently against the soft cushiony flesh.  I move 
up and now you're jacking me off while rubbing the head against your 
velvet-soft tummy; I give in, transported by the sensation, my cock-head 
slipping around in a little spot of its own lube on your stomach.

I press against your belly harder and you cup my balls as I rub them against 
your soft tummy too.  Again, the mental image of shooting all over your 
tummy, rubbing the goo around on your soft white flesh is intoxicating-- but 
again one of us has a different idea in mind.  You push me back against the 
bed and slide down, still grasping my cock.  At first your big round tits 
brush against my cock, and I'm thinking, if you're thinking what I'm 
thinking that will be really nice.  But then you move all the way down and 
push my cock up, and I feel your tongue licking my balls, coating them, 
enveloping them.  A moment of that and then your tongue moves down further, 
you push my legs back and I feel your tongue tickling my asshole, pushing 
against it to open it up.  I moan with the sheer sensory overload of it, and 
within a moment I have to stop you, now it's my turn to be simply too worn 
out after last night's ecstasy.

We lay there for a moment, looking at each other, me up on the bed and you 
halfway down my body, wondering what's next.  I know what I want but I'm 
still too blissed out to make my body move toward getting it.

Finally you start to roll back onto your back and I motion no, onto your 
stomach.  Now it's my turn to embrace your beautiful big ass, to rub my face 
against the massive round cheeks, feel my way up from your meaty thighs to 
your soft mashed breasts underneath you.  I spread your cheeks apart and jab 
my tongue straight into your ass, feeling it open more and more as the point 
of my tongue probes your wrinkled hole.

I move up and press my cock into the crack of your ass, laying atop your 
large gorgeous body.  You purr contentedly under my weight, pressed against 
the mattress.  In the heat of last night's passion I would have loved to 
take your ass, and I have a feeling you would have cried for it, but it 
seems too brusque a thing to do now, in this gentle morning light, this 
sleepy contentment.  So I reach into the outer folds of your pussy, dripping 
wet again, and come up with a handful of thick juices which I smear along 
the line of your bottom, and onto my cock.

Then I slip my cock back into the crack of your ass, and begin to rub myself 
up and down in your crack, feeling your ass buck back against my thrusts, 
loving the sight of that big round ass being pushed and kneaded by my hips.  
It only takes a few moments of the sight and feel of you under me like this, 
face down onto the bed, my cock rubbing in your ass before I start spraying 
gooey cum into your crack and up your back, more than I would have thought 
was left in me.  I fall off of you, exhausted, and you lay there, smiling at 
me as an oyster-like glob slides down your crack and vanishes in the furry 
wilderness below.

*  *  *

Later, as we dress, you ask me if I will write about this.

"That is who I am," I say, in my thick accent, as I refresh my moustache wax 
and pull my jodhpurs back on.  "I am Huysmans, most famous writer of BBW 
erotica.  I must write about you, as I must write about every big beautiful 
woman who I meet."

She understands; understands that this comes with the territory, that she, 
like all the other women before her, has helped make me the writer I am, 
made stories like The Sapphic Pirate Miranda what they are, going all the 
way back to that first bus ride on the way to the fiction seminar in 
college.  (Why I was growing up in small American town, when I have 
Schmertzylvanian accent to this day, is mystery Huysmans is not prepared to 
solve at this time.)

But then, as we kiss for the last time, as I hold her voluptuousness against 
me, savor for my memories the roundness of her curves, the powerful sexiness 
of her size, she looks at me with a question in her eyes.  She asks: "Will 
you make me beautiful?"

"You are already beautiful," I say, sincerely.  "It is job of Huysmans to 
make you ravishing, to make you most irresistibly seductive thing anyone has 
ever read about online.  So that even American men who think they love 
skinny little waifs will wish they could spend one night, lost in the 
rapturous abundance of your curvaceousness, tossing on the tempestuous seas 
of your ripe womanly voluptuousness."

"Without using too many adjectives," she said.

"Right," I said.  "Purple prose is occupational hazard for Huysmans, that is 
why better to stick to concrete details."

"Hmm," she said, as she slipped one arm into the loop of her bra, then the 
other, hoisting her large round breasts and creating a soft, creamy expanse 
of cleavage which I yearned to nuzzle my face in one more time.  "So how 
would you begin our story?" she asked as she raised her blouse over her head 
and I saw for an instant the slightest bulge of soft chubby skin between 
each armpit and the breast below it-- before the curtain of her blouse 
descended and she was respectably dressed.  "In the meeting about 
promotional items for Miranda?  That seems kind of boring."

"Huysmans would not begin erotic story with Powerpoint presentation," I said 
as she sat down on a chair with her high heels in her hand.  I admired her 
toes one last time as they, too, disappeared within the armor of the 
business day, and thought back on all the parts they had played in the night 
and morning of ecstasy we had enjoyed.  "Best to start right in the middle 
of things.  Maybe even past the middle.  Like tell the story of this 
morning, with just little flashbacks to the night before."

"Interesting," she said, snapping her last earring on.  "So how would you 
begin it," she asked, as she looked around for her keys and cell phone.  
"What's the concrete detail that brings back the whole experience for you?"

"You sure like to put Huysmans on spot," I said.  "Hard to say.  Maybe 
something like this."

"`A foot sticks out from the edge of the bed, chubby little pink toes with 
red toenails on a small puffy foot....'"

_________________________________________________________________
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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