Simmering Down
She’d worn the dusky pink satin nightie, trimmed with black. It was his favorite, set off the paleness of her skin perfectly, its shimmering fabric flattering her midnight hair and her ample curves as she dragged him down into the bed.
He loved the heat of her most, he thought. Her big body threw off heat like a furnace, like a sun. When she pulled him close she was all ample warmth and inviting curves, a whole new territory to discover. Her smooth skin was so soft, her body so yielding and feminine, lush. He could barely tell where satin ended and soft flesh began.
Her breasts arched under the satin as he spread her heavy thighs. Her stomach was a smooth, warm mound above her pussy. She was arches and curves all over. And there, at the juncture of her thighs, the radiant center of her heat, the fiery little flower, nestled between its fleshy folds. So innocent, so tiny, so pink, her pussy was welcomingly wet already, the folds parted in anticipation.
She’d converted him to loving large women. He couldn’t argue with the sheer abundance of her, every inch overstuffed, extra, somehow more than other women. When he buried his fingers in her she moaned, and he felt the shudder run through her whole body, saw it trembling and shivering through her. She was ready, didn’t need teasing or playing with. That’s what he loved about her: her eagerness, her readiness.
His cock slid in effortlessly. Her burning heat engulfed him, her soft thighs closed about him and pulled him close. Each thrust rocked her, her glorious flesh rippling beneath the satin. He leaned over her, kissing her hungry mouth, tasting her sugary lip gloss, getting a mouthful of her dusky hair. Her hands, so soft and delicate, clutched at him, even as her body arched urgently beneath him. Even inside her his cock ached, and he pushed hard to be closer, further inside her.
The nightie slipped down, one breast revealed, marvelously white. He sucked the berry of her nipple into his mouth, clutched at her, groped at her ample, eager body, hammering strokes into her as hard as he could. A smaller woman couldn’t have taken it. A smaller woman would have cried out. But she . . . her solidity, her femininity . . . she could take anything he could dish out.
He took her from behind, too, the glorious curves of her ass stretched out beneath him, the flawless plain of her back under the rucked-up nightie. He watched her ripple with each thrust, dug his hands into the creamy flesh of her hips and lost himself inside her, rocking into her furnace heat until he came, gushing, overwhelmed with pleasure even as she came, shuddering and rippling, her pussy squeezing him, articulate as a fist.
He lay atop her, blood cooling from its boil, smelling her soft scent, feeling her solidity bearing him up. Her sigh of contentment was a purr as they both lay, lazy with comfort, each basking in the warmth of the other.
~ Alexandra Rose ~