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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Fat (MF)
by Anonymous Author - 1994
*
It was Saturday, alone.There was nothing going on but the sickening sight
of Pat Sajak throwing a dozen Milk O' Master blenders into a ravenous
pack of undernourished trailer dwellers, or so it seemed. This
intellectual exercise was going way over my head and I was in desperate
need of something a little more down to earth.AH! But what is more down
to earth than a pizza and a porno flick? Ah, yes!But what... but what do
I want on the pizza? Pepperoni? Sausage? Peppers?HA! HA! I'll get all
three - Pepperoni! Peppers! & Sausage! Better yet, I'll get everything -
the works!
With shaking hands and trembling fingers, I picked up the telephone and
triumphantly placed my order: "Three pizzas - the works, and a six pack
of diet coke." I impatiently waited for my gourmet feast to arrive.
Needless to say, by the time the doorbell rang, I was hungry and horny. I
had popped in the video and Ron Jeremy was already boffing Ginger'Lynn in
a giant bowl of french salad. Both were smothered in mayonnaise and
pickle relish (of all things!).
The doorbell rang. I lethargically lifted my body from my Laz-Y-Boy chair
and slowly, cooly, walked to the door. (Mustn't let on any show of
anticipation to those pimple faced, lecherous pizza boys.) I methodically
opened the door.My jaw dropped. My stomach wriggled. My words
unconsciously slurred.
"Pizza" she said.
She! Yes! She! This was no pizza boy! No! This was a woman! And what a
woman.240 pounds of woman!!
"Pizza" she said, a bit impatiently, again.
"PPPllease cccome in." I, through my extreme nervousness (it took all my
conscious effort), calmly directed her into the living room and motioned
toward the Laz-Y-Boy chair. She, without a bit of hesitation, without a
bit of surprise - almost as if this was a regular occurrence during her
nocturnal pizza travels - plopped herself down, opened a box of pizza and
enthusiastically began to feed.
As she sat on the Laz-Y-Boy, I quietly sneaked into the kitchen, out of
reach of her unsuspecting eyes. There I could get a better look at her
features.She was big - about 240 pounds, blue eyed, and wore her hair in
two tight pigtails, like a hefty farm girl, innocent to the ways of the
world. She was,naturally, double chinned and her large, plump, rotund
breasts must have weighed at least 15 pounds each. Her attire was the
routine "pizza" blue and red. To be honest, her whole appearance was that
of excess. But though, I must add, her physical appearance appealed to
me, it was the way she carried herself. The way she ate pizza, for
instance. She grabbed the pie with both hands, unafraid of getting her
palms greasy or oily. Then in laser-like succession, she would sink her
teeth into a slice, devouring half of it in one mountainous bite. After
finishing off a piece, she would cooly wipe her sauce-stained mouth with
the back of her fleshy right hand and then continue on. She did this with
twenty slices.
I stared, lost in the rapture and passion of the moment. It was truly
love at first sight.
I came to my senses and walked back into the living room. The video was
still playing. I looked intently into her eyes. No words were spoken. She
knew my desires.
"Want some?" she indifferently asked.
There were four slices left in the third, and final, box. It was not
pizza I wanted.
"NNNoo, III'mm really not hungry. Shouldn't you be getting back?" This
was only a formality. I thought it should be mentioned.
"You want me to leave?"
She read my mind, "No... No!"
"Well let's put on some music!" she replied. She got up from the
Laz-Y-Boy,turned off the tube, and went headfirst towards the record
collection. Albums were subsequently strewn across the floor. She found
she wanted.
She awkwardly removed her top to reveal at least a 50DD bra which, with
difficulty, contained two titanium-sized melons. She began to dance. Her
stomach wriggled with each gyration, moving with the elegance of a
ballerina.She continued this sensual writhing. Plumpy hands being lifted
over her head,to the left, to the right, then her whole big body bending
forward! For at least fifteen minutes she continued, then her jeans fell
heavily to the floor.Heavily, I might add, but it was such a fluid
motion, it seemed an essential part of the dance. All she had on where
her panties and bra. Her oversized saddlebag ass now joined her oversized
balloon orbs in the elegant bouncing and swaying. She then, without
warning, did fifteen jumping jacks. The fat shook. The walls shook. The
room shook. The vibrations of ecstasy...
I, by this point, was in heat. I had the most massive hard-on and was all
but ready to explode. She noticed my fevered state.
"Was' a' matter, big boy?" she laughed. Her double chin now bouncing
incomplete rhythmic synchronization with her breasts and buttocks.
I lost control. I fell to the floor and wrapped my wanton arms around her
sequoia-like thighs.
"I know I am nothing! But if you have any mercy at all, you'll show me
some meaty passion! I can't go on much longer!" Why I said those exact
words, I'll never know. However, you know how it is during the heights of
ecstasy.
Anyway, she understood, and seeing the pitiful puppy dog expression in my
eyes,she took my hand and led me to the Laz-Y-Boy. She sat me down on the
chair and proceeded to remove her bra and panties. Her breasts were
larger than ever, at least 20 pounds each. Her nipples were the size of a
bologna slice. She grabbed me head and massaged it between her fleshy
orbs. The sensations of the flabby walls of breast fat rubbing up against
both my sensitive cheeks almost sent me out of control. How I somehow
managed to sustain control, I'll never know. I was unequivocally in
heaven.
After this lesson in sexuality, she grabbed my penis and - how can I
describe it - well, she sort of rolled it up and down in her belly fat
and implored me to, in her words, "Fuck my fat!". It felt so good that I
decided to 'go with the flow'.
What transpired next is still a haze to me to this very day. It seems I
was so completely immersed in the intense pleasure of the moment, I
sincerely believe I left my physical body and entered some supreme
spiritual state (I came six times!). I do vaguely recall, however,
removing my penis from her fantastic rolls and inserting it into her
massive love tunnel. After numerous earthshaking orgasms, everything
after that moment, unfortunately, is a complete blank.
When I finally awoke from my 'passion stupor', it was 3am. I quickly
jumped to my feet and desperately searched, hoping to find... But it was
too late.The pizza was gone. The diet coke was gone. She was gone. All
that was left was a food-stained note taped to the refrigerator door. It
read:
Thanks for the pizza and the sausage.
I sadly opened the refrigerator door. It was empty. Everything was gone.I
walked back to the Laz-Y-Boy. Pat Sajak was still throwing Milk O' Master
blenders.