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Message-ID: <44641asstr$1065571803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: bradley_stoke@hushmail.com (Bradley Stoke)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 7 Oct 2003 20:09:51 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Fat Chance (Bradley Stoke) (MF FF)
Date: Tue,  7 Oct 2003 20:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Title: {ASSM} Fat Chance (Bradley Stoke) (MF FF)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: MF FF
Short Summary: Fatima hates her name as it reminds her why she is unlucky
in love.



Story: Fat Chance (5,040 words)

Fatima hates her name as it reminds her why she is unlucky in love. And she 
thinks it a fat chance that she would ever find the one for her. But one day 
her luck turns for the better.  


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www
           


Fat Chance
==========



Fat. Fatty. Fat. Fat. Fatso. Fat. Fatima. Why had her parents 
christened her that? Surely they knew that in an English 
Language culture it was a name that could always be used 
to mock her. Especially as they knew from their own 
corpulent frames that their daughter was unlikely to be 
svelte, slim or slender. And as second-generation 
immigrants themselves, not even especially religious ones, 
they understood enough English to know just how her 
name could always be used as a stick to beat her with.

Especially as it just happened to be true that she was fat.

Fatima hated being fat. She hated the word. If only she 
could ever think of herself as plump. Or tubby. Or stout. Or 
generously built. But Fatima knew that such words were 
just euphemisms for the same thing, Fat. Gross. Obese. She 
studied her naked reflection in the wall-length mirror, 
which was too narrow to encompass the whole of her girth. 
She was sure she wasn't ugly as such. She studied her face. 
Wasn't her face quite pretty from certain angles?

But from the chin down: fold after fold of light brown 
flesh, overflowing any clothes she wore. If she wore loose 
clothes, she looked like a sack of potatoes. If she wore tight 
clothes, it merely emphasised the swell of her folds of fat. 
'Love-handles' she reflected on the indulgent name 
sometimes attached to the generous insulation around her 
waist. But handles that were far more substantial than they 
needed to be. Even with the mirror in front of her, she 
could barely see her own vagina. It was hidden under her 
engorged stomach. Even the pubic hairs were hidden from 
view. And her bosom. Perhaps the only part of her that was 
built to the proportions a man was supposed to like. Huge 
armfuls, which she had difficulty folding her arms over. Or 
under, for that matter. Her nipples, or at least the dark 
brown areola around them, were larger than her vagina. 
Each one almost the size of her face. But unlike the huge-
breasted women of male fantasy, her bosom rested on an 
even larger stomach. 

Fatima twirled around on her toes. Sometimes she found it 
a burden to even support her own weight. She turned her 
neck round to regard her buttocks, or their reflection in the 
mirror. Also huge. Also plump. Maybe they were designed 
to be comfortable to sit on, but not when squeezed into the 
narrow confines of a seat in a car, a train, a bus, or, worst 
of all, an aeroplane. 

And yet, despite her plumpness, she had a date. With a 
man. Or at least, she thought so. When she'd left Freddy 
last night, she was sure he'd agreed to let her see him again. 
She'd kissed him goodbye after their brief fuck, and when 
pressed he admitted that he'd not got anything planned for 
the day and that she could come by. Not perhaps the most 
encouraging of invitations, but Fatima was never one to 
relinquish her clutch on the most tenuous straws. And, of 
course, they'd fucked. Or he'd fucked her. The ultimate act 
of love and affection. Reputedly.

It hadn't been a very romantic fuck, Fatima knew. But 
precious few of the not many fucks in her life had really 
been much better. At least he hadn't laughed in her face 
when she'd suggested meeting again. And it had been him 
who had made the first move, when he placed his hand on 
her thigh. Though, naturally, Fatima made bloody sure that 
it wasn't going to end there. She pulled out his prick, long 
and thin and hairy, rather like Freddy himself. She licked 
and gobbled at it, hungry for its taste after so long. And 
then she made sure it went inside her. 

But it was over too soon. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. In. Out. In. 
Out. In fact, Fatima could barely feel the prick inside her at 
first, as it squeezed through the rolls of fat. But it was soon 
in. And Freddy was over her, his hands gripping on her 
enormous bosom to maintain his balance, his legs wedged 
between the fleshy grip of her thighs. In. Out. In. Out. 
Fatima was determined to get as much from it as she could. 
But before her anxieties of whether he'd continue for very 
long had passed and she was able to truthfully enjoy the 
pleasure of a man's cock in her cunt, reducing her to the 
creamy, slippery helplessness that she was sure was the 
final destination of lovemaking but which she'd never yet 
experienced, it was over. A squirt of come inside her. A 
damp puddle in her knickers. A stain on her sweatshirt. 

And then Freddy tucked his cock away. Buttoned up his 
trousers. And it was almost like nothing had happened. But 
it had! They had fucked. And Fatima was going to go over 
to visit him at the house he shared with all those students 
and unemployed actors and people with undefined jobs. 
Even though she wondered whether she had the courage 
for another rejection. And they could be so hurtful. Made 
her wonder whether there was any point in living. All she 
wanted was love and affection. And all she got was hurt 
and rejection. And all because she was fat. A fatty. A lardy. 
Overweight and undervalued. It would be a fat chance that 
she'd ever find a lover who'd truly appreciate her for the 
beautiful person inside her podgy body.

 "Yeah, sure he's in," said the slightly stoned young man 
who answered the door. "You're Fatima, aren't you? You 
were here last night, weren't you? Good gear, wasn't it?"

Fatima nodded. She had agonised on what clothes to wear. 
There was no way to conceal her corpulence, though. She 
opted for a skirt and sweatshirt, just as she'd worn the night 
before, as she thought it'd be the easier to pull off. Ever the 
optimist. She carried her make-up and things in a canvas 
bag she slung over her shoulder. Her sweatshirt 
misleadingly advertised Columbia University, although 
she'd never been to university and she'd never even been to 
the States. "Upstairs is he?"

"Yeah. Top floor. Seeya!" He disappeared back through the 
door he'd come from, while Fatima made her way up the 
badly carpeted staircase to Freddy's room, passing other 
rooms as she ascended, many of them pulsing to a different 
stereo beat. 

Fatima could hear some two-step garage coming out of 
Freddy's room. She smiled. So much better than that Hard 
House stuff she'd had to endure last time she was there. 
She pushed open Freddy's door, with a selection of 
rehearsed phrases competing for attention, along with the 
one that had only just occurred to her which was to 
compliment him on playing rather more melodic music. 
But she had barely said "Hi there, Freddy! How're you?" 
when she realised that almost anything she'd prepared to 
say would be wholly inappropriate. 

Freddy was there. And his bedroom was exactly as Fatima 
remembered it. Tatty posters advertising club nights that 
had ceased to exist years ago. A stack of clothes piled high 
on an armchair. A small TV and a much larger stereo. And 
a single bed taking centre-stage. And on that bed was 
Freddy. Unmistakably him. His lean thin face. The ragged 
hair. Not long but still lank. The perpetually unshaven 
chin. Those big hairy hands. And those hands were 
clasping into the thin, angular buttocks of a naked girl. One 
who was much, much, much thinner than Fatima ever was. 
Thin even compared to a thin girl. And those buttocks were 
pistoning up and down on Freddy's erect penis, which 
thrust up and down with rather less vigour than those 
buttocks pushed up and down on him. 

The girl was leaning forward, her weight resting on arms 
stretched onto Freddy's shoulders, tiny breasts, almost all 
nipple that were nevertheless big enough to shake with the 
girl's thrusts. Her dark brown hair was short, but her long 
earrings swang wildly as she pushed herself up and down 
on Freddy beneath her. And she was gasping in a low 
punctuated rhythm, immersed in her lovemaking, not 
wasting any energy in shouts or screams of greater abandon 
than was necessary. Freddy raised his head as he saw 
Fatima hover at the door entrance, her greeting suspended 
in empty air with no response. The girl turned her head 
round, still grunting and gasping, and smiled at Fatima.

She didn't pause in her lovemaking, and it was clearly not 
that easy to articulate as she continued to pump up and 
down on Freddy's prick, but she spoke to Fatima amiably 
enough. "Hi! You must be? uh! ? Fatima. I'm Ella?. 
Don't worry. We won't? uhhh! ? We won't be long."

And then she resumed her fucking, leaving Fatima feeling 
vaguely humiliated. But also rooted to the spot. She 
couldn't leave now she'd been welcomed. But wasn't this 
Ella, who'd greeted her so pleasantly, just emphasising 
again her own inadequacy? Less than a day after Fatima 
had made love to Freddy. And thought, well imagined, 
perhaps fantasised, that she'd at last found a boyfriend. 
Here was someone Fatima had never met before, with 
rather fewer than the many weeks of preparation that 
Fatima had invested in getting to know Freddy better, who 
had so effortlessly succeeded in bedding him. And had 
already, in the interval of fucking that she'd already 
witnessed, enjoyed making love with him for rather longer 
than Fatima had done. And stimulating rather more passion 
in the man than she had managed.

And they continued making love. If this wasn't long, it was 
already, humiliatingly longer than any time Fatima had 
ever spent being fucked by a man. If it went on for much 
longer, it might even exceed the sum total of all the fucks 
Fatima had ever had. And Freddy was enjoying it so much. 
Fatima felt like running away from the room. Let the tears 
that were welling behind her eyes come to the surface. 
Instead, she felt obliged to sit there, on one of the two 
poorly sprung second-hand armchairs in Freddy's room, 
mesmerised by the sight of real fucking, wishing that she 
were the one being fucked and not Ella.

Fatima had time to study the scene in detail. It was a little 
like the porn films she'd seen. Only there was none of that 
chintzy synthetic music: the soundtrack being the garage 
sound of Ayia Napia coming from the stereo and totally 
out-of-synch with the action. The grunts and wheezes and 
gasps and other noises were much more random and 
unstructured than in a movie. Sometimes building up 
together as the genitals ground together more furiously. 
Sometimes dying away as the thrusting became gentler or 
more relaxed. And without the camera angles, all Fatima 
could see was the view that was allowed by Ella's posture 
on top of the prostrate Freddy. And basically this was of a 
pair of testicles flopping up and down below a pair of 
angular, bony buttocks. Ella's body moved in rhythm with 
her buttocks. Angular sharp shoulders, and a back where 
the knobbles of the spine and the full details of the 
shoulder blades were delineated on her pale freckled skin. 
And the spine leading in a graceful arc along her neck to 
the one or two inch crop of her hair and those swinging 
earrings. The only thing she wore. Unlike Freddy, who still 
had on his socks and a tee shirt. And the earrings were of 
the cheap ethnic kind you could easily buy at Camden Lock 
or Portobello Road markets.

Finally, it was over. Ella jumped off and onto the carpet in 
front of Fatima.  Fatima could see that the teat of Freddy's 
condom was full of the sperm he'd produced. This 
gentlemanly use of prophylactics demonstrated rather more 
concern for any fear that Ella might have for sexually 
transmitted diseases than he'd ever shown Fatima. Ella 
smiled at Fatima while Freddy unwrapped the condom 
from his limp penis.

"See! I told you I wouldn't be long. I guess you two will 
want to get it together now. I'll go and get some coffee. 
How do you have yours?"

Too startled to object to anything, Fatima could respond 
only mechanically. "White. One sugar." Her eyes darted 
from Ella to Freddy and back to Ella, as she pulled over her 
head an old tee shirt with 'Pacha' written across it and the 
skimpiest of cotton briefs that barely covered any of her 
lush pubic hair. And then out of Freddy's room and 
thundering down the stairs to the kitchen.

Freddy looked up at Fatima, as he sprawled on the bed, 
wearing only socks and tee shirt and a lifeless penis resting 
on his thigh, still shiny and sticky in the early evening sun. 
"Holy Fuck, Fatima. I didn't expect you here."

Fatima sat on the bed, too dazed to even contemplate 
upbraiding Freddy for his unfaithfulness. She didn't wish to 
face the humiliation of him telling her to her face that he 
didn't consider what they'd done together the day before as 
being of any consequence. "How come Ella knows who I 
am?"

"Does she? Yeah, I guess she does. She used your name, 
didn't she? Maybe she'd talked to the others in the house. 
They might have mentioned you. You've been quite a 
regular visitor the last few weeks. She moved in a couple 
of weeks ago. Her bedroom's down on the first floor."

"I've not met her before."

"Well, she keeps real irregular hours."

Fatima lowered herself onto the mattress next to Freddy 
and placed a hand on his thigh, emboldened by the fact that 
he didn't push her hand to one side. "She's got to know you 
pretty well, hasn't she?"

Freddy smiled. This was obviously something that rather 
pleased him. "Yeah. She has, hasn't she?"

Fatima idly stroked the hairs of Freddy's thigh, wondering 
whether she would ever get to know that prick of his again. 
It was tempting, lying there, even inert and exhausted. She 
wondered whether she could just lean over. Pinch it. 
Perhaps suck it. Bring it back to life. "Is she your 
girlfriend, Freddy?" she asked cautiously.

"'Girlfriend'? Fuck no!" Freddy replied, immediately 
reassuring Fatima. She smiled, but not for long. "I haven't 
got any girlfriends." Not even me? wondered Fatima. "She 
just fucks whoever she likes. In fact, she's fucked everyone 
in the house, I think. Well, perhaps not quite everyone. I 
don't think Giles quite realises what an easy pull she is."

"So, you're free still?" wondered Fatima, boldly placing a 
chubby hand on Freddy's sticky prick, hoping to bring it to 
life. Fat chance! It just stayed limp. 

"Oh. Fatima. I'm too tired. You can see that," said Freddy, 
lifting her hand off and placing it on the sheet. 

"Maybe later this evening?" Fatima pleaded.

Freddy frowned. "Fuck, Fatima. I've got other things 
arranged for tonight. What made you think it'd be a good 
idea to come round?"

"Well, after yesterday?"

"Yesterday?" Freddy frowned. "What do you mean?" Then 
his face lightened up. "Oh, I remember. Yeah. Well, don't 
worry about yesterday. These things happen."

"What do you mean? 'Don't worry about yesterday'? Are 
you saying that??" Despite herself, Fatima could feel tears 
of frustration and self-pity surface and threaten to burst 
free.

"Oh. Fuck! Fatima! Don't make a scene," sighed an 
exasperated Freddy. "Look. We're friends, right. Yesterday 
was just one of those things. Just don't take it personal."

Fatima took her hand off Freddy's thigh and wedged it 
together with her other hand in the expansive comforting 
flesh between her round knees. Her shoulder-length bob 
fell forward over her round cheeks and hid her eyes from 
view.

It was actually quite a relief when Ella finally returned 
from the kitchen carrying a tray with three mugs on it. It 
had been a long three quarters of an hour for Fatima, sitting 
on the side of the bed, avoiding any conversation on the 
two things uppermost in her mind, namely her 
disillusionment with Freddy and her rapacious desire for 
sex. Freddy just lay there, his prick still on view, leaving it 
to Fatima to change the CD to another choice when the 
final vocal breaks had died away. Fatima chose the more 
relaxing sound of M J Cole, dismissing all the Hard House, 
Acid Techno and Breakbeat compilations that mostly 
dominated his collection. Freddy didn't complain about her 
choice for a change, but Fatima almost wished she'd 
chosen something with fewer lyrics and definitely fewer on 
the subject of love and romance. She could imagine herself 
in every heartfelt song, either relating to lost love or 
envying those who had it good.

"I was terribly afraid I'd not given you enough time 
together," Ella said with a smile as she handed out the 
coffees. "But you've definitely not wasted your time." Ella 
seemed oblivious to the lack of complicity to her 
comments in the sight of a Freddy who was collapsed in 
much the same state as he was when she'd left and a Fatima 
who was rolling up on the cover of one of Freddy's dance 
magazines. "I was talking to Barry down there. Seems 
everyone's out this evening 'cept me and you. And Fatima 
here."

"I'm out as well. I've got an appointment in South Ken," 
Freddy boasted.

Ella smiled. "Well then, it's just me and Fatima. But hey! 
We can always go down the Elephant. You fancy that, 
Fatima?"

"Yeah. Sure," Fatima agreed, sealing the seam of her three-
skinner and tightening the twist. "Whatever."

Thank fuck for Lebanon's principal export, which ensured 
that the next few hours passed by with rather less stress and 
tension than it might otherwise have done. And also spared 
Fatima the embarrassment of seeing Ella and Freddy make 
love again. Even when it was her turn to wander down to 
the kitchen to refill the coffee mugs, and she got talking to 
Eunice about the dreadful stink coming out of the lavatory 
bowl, when she returned, half-expecting to see Freddy's 
prick inside Ella again, all there was to see was Freddy 
sorting out some clothes to wear and the back of Ella's 
arse, barely covered by her pale green undies, as she hunted 
for CDs of her choice in Freddy's extensive but not diverse 
CD collection. And so it was to the happy clappy handbag 
beat of one of Freddy's older compilations that the three of 
them prepared for their Tuesday evening out.

The Elephant & Firkin was not one of the trendiest pubs 
around, but it was the one that Freddy and the others from 
his house tended to visit most frequently. Ella ordered the 
first couple of drinks while Fatima sat in an alcove tapping 
the end of her Marlboro onto the table. She'd warmed to 
Ella as the evening progressed, and hadn't really minded 
too much when Freddy left them for the Northern Line. 
Though she felt a pang of regret as he kissed Ella goodbye 
for much longer than he had ever kissed her. And it didn't 
help that almost as soon as Freddy had gone, Ella was 
dissing his lack of imagination in bed. It wasn't imaginative 
lovemaking that Fatima missed. It was lovemaking of any 
kind. 

Ella was cheerful and fun to be with, dispelling many of 
Fatima's darker thoughts, as they sat together, cigarettes 
dangling from their fingers, watching the traffic of regular 
pubgoers through the blue haze of tobacco smoke. But 
Fatima wished that Ella wouldn't keep going on about sex. 
Sure, it was a subject of almost infinite interest, but her 
conversation only made Fatima feel the more inadequate. It 
wasn't only that she talked about Freddy. In fact, Freddy 
was barely mentioned at all. But there were too many 
names for Fatima to keep up with, and she knew only a 
small percentage of them. And the boys were all described 
in terms of sexual preferences and the sexual activity that 
Ella had enjoyed with them. Twosomes. Threesomes. Anal. 
Double entry. 

"Though I much prefer two in the front, rather than one in 
both hole," Ella asserted. "It can get quite sore in the arse, 
you know."

Fatima didn't know, but she nodded sagely.

Was there no combination that Ella hadn't enjoyed? Was 
there no place she'd not done it? She'd gone mad in Ibiza. 
She'd gone mad in Crete and Turkey. She'd done it on the 
dance floor. She'd done it at the bus stop. She'd done it on 
the beach at Brighton, after a night out at the Zap Club.

"So. What about you, Fatima? You ever gone mad?"

Fatima shook her head sadly. She just couldn't compete 
with Ella. And she didn't have the confidence to lie about it 
either. "I've never really gone mad. In that way. Ever." 

"What? You've never been to the Balearics or anything?"

"Yeah. I've been there. With a friend. But we never really 
got it off much."

"Surely you got fucked by someone? You can't go to Ibiza 
and not get fucked."

"Yeah. One guy did me. But it was pretty quick. And he 
was real drunk. I think he thought I was my mate, Nadia. 
Even though she's a lot thinner than me."

"Oh! Fatima!" sighed Ella, taking one of Fatima's plump 
hands in her own much more slender fingers. Her long thin 
arm was like a pale stick against the round contours of 
Fatima's arm. "You're upset because you're not thin, aren't 
you?"

Fatima nodded her head and lowered it. And then she 
suddenly burst into tears. They were silent tears, but tears 
nonetheless. Tears that came from deep, deep inside her. 
"It's not that I'm not thin. It's because I'm fat. Nobody 
wants to go out with a fat girl. No one wants to make love 
with me. Everyone looks at me and all they see is fat. Fat. 
Fat. And fat."

Ella squeezed Fatima's hand. "Don't be silly, Fatima. It's 
not what you look like that's the problem."

"Yes it is. Yes it is. You don't know, because you're thin. 
But I'm not. I'm fat. And all anyone can ever see is a fat 
person."

Ella wiped the tears off Fatima's face with a tissue. "Being 
fat isn't the worst thing there is. I used to have a bit of a 
complex about my figure too. I guess that's why I'm so 
skinny. And I guess that's why I fuck everything that 
moves. You know. Lack of self-esteem. I dunno.  I'm not a 
psychologist or anything. I used to binge eat and vomit 
when I was a teen. Bulimia. You must've heard of it. I don't 
do that now. Too busy fucking to care, I guess. But don't 
get a complex about your weight. I think you look quite 
cool. Neat. Not classical beauty, perhaps. But you've got a 
pretty face."

"Have I?" sniffed Fatima, smiling wanly.

Ella kissed her gently on the lips, a gesture that seemed 
absolutely natural and unthreatening. "Very pretty. Nice 
eyes, too. And anyway what's so wrong about being fat? It's 
just what you are, isn't it? You can't change that without 
being a different person." She squeezed Fatima's hand 
while pulling a couple of cigarettes out of her packet of 
Benson's. "And I quite like plump myself. I've had some 
plump lovers and they're not at all bad. More to nestle into, 
you know. Not such a bad thing at all. You can't have too 
much of a good thing!"

The evening went by so quickly. Several drinks later and 
the bar staff were already calling last orders. "Fancy some 
blow?" wondered Ella, as the two girls pushed their way 
out of the pub, the street now dark and intimidating. Fatima 
nodded, not even considering the difficulties of getting 
back home if she left much later.

They made their way back to Freddy's house, and up the 
stairs to Ella's room. Fatima looked around her. The room 
was relatively bare. A poster of a pre-Raphaelite painting, a 
chair, a bed and a wardrobe. Ella bounced onto the bed. 
Fatima sat next to her, the mattress sagging quite markedly 
under her weight. Ella picked up a remote, pointed it at her 
stereo from which came the sound of a late night dance 
station, and she placed a magazine over her lap where she 
commenced to roll a thin small number, but one which 
Fatima could soon verify was pretty strong and heady.

Fatima was not gay. Well, not gay in the sense that she 
ever identified with the gay rights movement, ever bought 
a gay newspaper or even bothered with films or television 
programs about gay people. But when Ella wrapped her 
arms around her neck and pecked her on the cheeks, 
Fatima knew exactly how to respond. And her enthusiasm 
wasn't only because she'd had a bit to drink and was now 
properly mellowed out. Even in the pub, Ella and she had 
held hands and cuddled close, and Fatima had felt warm 
and comfortable. So now, it really was no big deal to kiss 
and cuddle and stroke Ella. And not just to kiss on the 
cheeks and the forehead and the lips, but full locked-on, 
mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, saliva drooling down 
the chin, proper kissing.

And then the clothes. Ella was so romantic. The clothes 
came off so gently. So discreetly. Fatima had already seen 
Ella naked. Only now, the sight was much more welcome. 
Freddy's prick was not pumping away inside her. And she 
could admire her small breasts. Her narrow waist. Her thin 
arms and thighs. The long spine curving from the top of the 
buttocks, castellating towards neck. Those swinging 
earrings. 

And Fatima's own flesh. Liberated from her clothes. The 
huge breasts. The stomach that swelled out and hid her sex 
under its folds. The body twice maybe three times the 
weight of Ella's, and certainly at least as much flesh again. 
At first Fatima was afraid that Ella would reject her as 
soon as she saw how very fat she was. As soon as she 
appreciated just how very plump. But no! Her lips went 
straight for Fatima's nipples, while she luxuriated in 
Fatima's very vastness.

As Fatima lay back, mostly receiving rather than giving, 
Ella's body sinking into hers, she could see how much 
better a slim body went together with a large one. Ella had 
no difficulty in navigating her flesh. Able to get hands into 
her vagina, fingers caressing her clitoris, a mostly forgotten 
delight, while her lips and teeth mushed at her breasts, each 
one the size of her head. Fatima ran her plump fingers up 
and down Ella's bare back, enjoying the touch of those 
bony vertebrae, and wriggling with pleasure as Ella's 
fingers pared and wormed their way into the inner spaces 
of her vagina. And then vagina crushed against vagina, 
Ella's earrings once again swaying back and forth with her 
motion, Fatima's stomach forcing her into a forty-five 
degree slant, while her hands gripped on Fatima's bosom 
for support. 

And later, Ella's tongue was deep inside Fatima's vagina, 
the labia parted as the fingers pushed open, while Fatima 
curved up on her back as much as she could, Ella's knees 
on her ears, Fatima's tongue teasing the small hairs of her 
inner thigh, her plump fingers tweaking and stroking Ella's 
own crotch. This was a new sight to Fatima. She'd hardly 
really got to know her own vagina, hidden as it was 
beneath her belly, but here was another, hairy and hot, 
smelling strongly, but a smell so unlike that of a man's 
prick but also subtly different from her own smells that 
she'd sniffed on the tips of her fingers. As their bodies 
rolled and wobbled on Ella's mattress, her tongue soon 
found its way onto the vaginal lips, and she gobbled away, 
strands of hair in her nostrils, saliva on her chin and the 
rich sticky cream from inside Ella splattered onto her 
cheeks.

Fatima didn't know when she became aware of the noises 
that accompanied their lovemaking. Were those urgent 
gasps, and occasional shrieks, coming from the stereo? 
Fatima became aware only gradually, just as she became 
belatedly aware of the stream of sweat coming down her 
forehead and the pool of sweat on her stomach against 
which Ella slid so smoothly, but the sounds were coming 
from Ella. And also from Fatima herself.

Fatima had never had an orgasm before. She'd never been 
able to induce one in herself, despite her many attempts 
and her persistence. Nor had she ever experienced one 
from her time with men. They usually got their business 
finished far too soon. But now, for the first time, she was 
experiencing a strength of feeling, an urgent melting, a 
spasm that reached inside her, a presence of ecstasy, and a 
pure physical sensation that at last felt like what she'd read 
an orgasm should be. 

The sensation overwhelmed her. And when the two at last 
paused in their lovemaking, the sheets damp and ruffled, 
their breath coming in urgent exhausted pants, Fatima put 
her arms around Ella and squeezed her close to her bosom, 
her arms easily encompassing the thin waist and slender 
chest. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Ella seemed a little embarrassed. "I don't quite know what 
you're thanking me for. It was fun for me too."

"But we'll do it again, won't we? It won't be the only time, 
will it?"

Ella smiled. "Of course we will!" she said reassuringly, 
running her fingers over Fatima's swelling stomach. 

Fatima smiled. She so much wanted to believe it. Although 
part of her still doubted it. In the cold light of day, would 
Ella truly prefer a plump woman such as her to all the men 
she could have? And Fatima still thought of a man as the 
natural partner even though she'd never had as much fun in 
bed with one as she'd just had with a woman. But for now 
she had what she'd wanted. What she'd always wanted. 
She'd had her chance and she'd taken it.



For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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