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From: bradley_stoke@hushmail.com (Bradley Stoke)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 12 Nov 2003 00:12:15 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Size Discrimination (Bradley Stoke) (MF FF)
Date: Tue, 11 Nov 2003 23:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Title: {ASSM} Size Discrimination (Bradley Stoke) (MF FF)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: MF FF
Short Summary: Fanny discovers how very different her teacher is.



Story: Size Discrimination (4,993 words)

Fanny is aware that most people regard Qafira, her 
foreign teacher, as a freak. Unlike everyone else
she knows, Qafira is very thin indeed. But Fanny is
intent on not letting Size Discrimination come between
her and the object of her lust.


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


Size Discrimination
===================



Fanny regarded her teacher with fascination from where 
she sat at the back of the classroom. Qafira was so very 
thin. Were they all as thin as her where she came from? 
Almost all skin and bones. Hardly any fat on the woman at 
all. She knew that Qafira would get plenty of stick for her 
thinness. People would wonder whether she'd eaten well. 
Or whether she wasn't weak with hunger. But despite her 
skinniness, Fanny decided that Qafira was actually rather 
attractive. A difficult thing to admit to her friends, of 
course. They'd think she'd gone mad. Or, at least, lost her 
powers of discrimination.

She looked around at her classmates, all of whom were 
built on the same generous model as she was. As was only 
natural. Large breasts. Swelling stomachs. Full fleshy 
arms, generous buttocks, thighs that pressed together, and 
more than enough flesh for anyone. This was the way it 
should be. Like Tracey, her best friend, who as always was 
sitting next to her, her blouse revealingly open, and 
inevitably letting free a glimpse of a nipple She squeezed 
Tracey's hand, and her friend squeezed it in return. She 
placed a podgy hand on her friend's bulging thigh and 
Tracey smiled. 

"Wait till after school!" she whispered partly as a promise 
and partly to advise patience.

Fanny looked back at Qafira. She looked so very prim and 
restrained in her dress: a long dress that trailed down to 
below her knees. A blouse so loose and buttoned so high 
that it was difficult to be sure that she had a bosom at all. 
Hardly any flesh on display from her neck to her chest. Or 
from her ankles to her crotch. Perhaps she was just afraid 
to show off her body. Unlike Fanny. Or her friends. If 
you've got it girl, then flaunt it. And Fanny had plenty of 
flesh to show. Her blouse was short enough to show off 
almost all her proud stomach that overflowed and 
overhung the tight shorts that pinched at the flesh of her 
massive thighs. Fanny was proud of her body. She was 
probably the plumpest, most generously proportioned and 
therefore most beautiful girl in her class. 

Her theory that Qafira was a woman with few admirers was 
substantiated when, after her Geography lesson with Mr 
Walton, Fanny broached the subject to her teacher. They 
were lying together in the small bed in the storeroom at the 
back of the classroom where he normally entertained his 
pupils and, presumably, some of the other teachers. With 
effort, he rolled over off his front and dropped his legs over 
the side. His long thin penis was still sticky after having 
humped Fanny from behind. This was the most 
comfortable position to enter a girl as plump as Fanny, and 
Mr Walton was by no stretch of the imagination slim 
himself. This was probably why he was one of the few 
teachers to whom Fanny would regularly let have 
possession of her body. He stroked Fanny's huge thighs.

"Qafira's a damned freak, ain't she?" he snorted. "I can't 
imagine anyone, even a girl, going for someone as thin as 
her. Why! I bet you could almost see her ribs!"

Fanny scowled. What a thought? She could barely even 
feel her own ribs underneath the thick flesh on her chest 
and bosom. 

Mr Walton's opinion was echoed by Tracey and her other 
school-friends. But it was in her other teacher lover, Mrs 
Reagan, that Fanny found a more sympathetic hearing. 
They lay together in Mrs Reagan's bed while her husband 
was busying himself in his workshop, a much more 
comfortable place to make love than in the school 
storerooms, particularly as Mrs Reagan was prone to thrash 
about quite wildly when she was in passion. The combined 
weight of the two of them was just about all the bed could 
take. 

"Well, I don't fancy her exactly," Mrs Reagan mused. "All 
skin and bones, you know. But she's got a nice face. And I 
can't blame you for being curious of what it's like to make 
love with a thin woman. A bit perverse. But where Qafira 
comes from they're all skinny. And if you ever want to go 
travelling, I guess you're just going to have to get used to 
the thinner lover."

"It's not thin women I quite like, it's Qafira," Fanny 
remarked.

"Well, excuse me for being sceptical, but you haven't really 
got to know her very well. She's just your teacher. Are you 
sure that it's not just one of those terrible schoolgirl 
crushes? As soon as you get to know her better, it'll all 
come to tears."

"How can it be a schoolgirl crush? I make love with you. 
And Mr Walton. And I used to fuck with Mr Smith and 
Miss Watson and Mr Castille. They weren't teenage 
schoolgirl crushes."

"Of course it's not the same, sweetest, " Mrs Reagan 
agreed, running a podgy finger round and around Fanny's 
nipple. "It's normal in our country for teachers and pupils 
to have sex together. I know the score. Everyone does it. 
 From the first time you stayed late after class and let your 
panties slip down, I knew exactly what it was you wanted 
and I was more than happy to give it to you. A plump girl 
like you? It's not an opportunity to ignore. You know the 
score too. But Qafira? I don't think it's the same at all. Not 
only would you be her only lover, which is odd enough, but 
she's? well? she is a little bit freakish?"

Fanny frowned, but she was grateful for Mrs Reagan's 
advice. She leaned over and took her English teacher's 
mouth in hers and very soon the two of them were rolling 
around as violently and passionately as before. Certainly 
more than loud enough for Mr Reagan in the garden to 
know that his wife was enjoying her quality time with her 
pupil.

Fanny's mother was initially rather less supportive when 
her daughter told her whom she wanted to invite to her 
birthday party. She sat opposite Fanny in the kitchen, 
folding her arms in front of her and underneath the huge 
weight of her bosom. Except for the unfastened dressing 
gown she was wearing nothing. Clothes are such a 
nuisance around the home! But her stomach overhung her 
crotch, as it did Fanny's father's groin, so Fanny never had 
to feel that curious inappropriate feeling when one sees 
one's parents' genitals.

"Skinny, you say? How skinny?"

"Very skinny."

"Honestly, dear. How can you? You do have the choice 
still. You can just invite her to your party and not make 
love to her."

"But that would be wrong. That's not what I want at all. I 
want Qafira to come to my birthday dinner and afterwards, 
as is my right and privilege, I can choose who I want to 
fuck."

"Why not Tracey? Why not one of the boys? Bob or Frank 
or Terry?"

"It's Qafira I want."

"Qafira. Qafira. What a dumb name for a woman!"

Qafira had a similar opinion about the names of all the 
people she'd met ever since she first arrived in Further 
Quitchland to teach Modern Languages. In fact, almost 
everything about this country was taking a lot of getting 
used to. Not least of which being just how very fat 
everyone was. At first she regarded it with a mixture of 
disgust and humour. All these gross waddling bodies, 
barely able to support their own weight, overhanging seats 
and chairs. Huge chubby balls of lard. She'd heard that this 
was the result of many years of sexual selection. 
Overweight men and women were the ones who most 
attracted partners, so their genes simply became the most 
common. This tendency towards obesity must have been 
enormously assisted by a national diet that was excessively 
fatty and sugary. There were far too many carbohydrates 
and sugar in everything they ate. And the aversion to 
physical exercise, as well. Was it any wonder that people in 
Further Quitchland never weighed much less than a 
hundred kilos? 

After a while, Qafira learnt that there were more 
differences in the natives of Further Quitchland from those 
back home than just their relative corpulence. Not only 
were they quite content to be plump, they had almost no 
experience at all of thinner people. All the images they 
ever saw were of similarly overweight people. And the 
images of sexual attractiveness to which they aspired were 
of men and women who in Qafira's hometown would have 
been laughed at for their very obesity. And furthermore, 
these were people whose appetite for sex was way beyond 
what Qafira would have once considered decent. They 
were always at it. With almost no apparent discrimination 
as to who their partners were. It didn't seem to matter that 
men fucked men, women fucked women or men fucked 
women. There was no taboo as to teachers fucking pupils 
or bosses fucking secretaries or even there being a proper 
time or place. At least there were proper limits with regards 
to age and incest. That given, though, there seemed to be 
no other restrictions. 

It took a while for Qafira to get accustomed to seeing so 
much bare flesh. It was quite normal for her to see bare 
breasts in the classroom or the street. In fact, totally nudity 
wasn't that unusual. For her, initially, she found this parade 
of overflowing flab rather the opposite of sexy, but as she 
got more accustomed to her ample companions, she 
became more attuned to what could be considered 
physically attractive. Somehow, people here associated size 
with sex appeal. The more you had of one the more you 
had of the other. And very soon, Qafira realised that as she 
had very little flesh in comparison, she was considered to 
be equally lacking in physical beauty.

This alarmed her. She'd never thought of herself as 
especially thin. Her breasts were not especially small, her 
waistline refused to lose evidence of a stomach and she 
was actually quite thick-boned. But here she was quite 
simply the thinnest person that most people had ever seen. 
Wherever she went she was followed by voyeuristic stares, 
and sometimes by rather crude comments. And, 
furthermore, as she discovered, amongst all these over-
sexed, promiscuous, licentious people who had sex 
everywhere, with everyone and with no restraint, she was 
not getting any sexual satisfaction herself.

At first, she thought it would just be a matter of time. She'd 
find someone, perhaps not quite as large as everyone else, 
with whom she could have a relationship. It had never been 
a problem back home, although she was strictly a serial 
lover and she preferred to stay with her lovers for months 
or even years. Now, after many months, she had not had a 
date or a goodnight kiss, let alone full, unrestrained sex. 
And now Qafira was beginning to rather yearn for it. It 
wasn't as if she cared especially whether it was with a man 
or a woman. And she was beginning to care rather less as 
to exactly how slim a lover needed to be. She would just 
like to feel again a lover's lips between her knees. She 
wanted once more to be lost in the passion that only came 
from being engaged in making love with another person. 
And she was also feeling rather lonely. In a society where 
sex was so rampant, there was almost nothing like a 
normal friendship with no sexual content. So, no one 
would go out with her for a drink, or to see a film, or to eat 
in a restaurant, for fear that other people would think that 
the two of them were lovers.

So, Qafira was rather surprised when Fanny asked her, 
rather sweetly and shyly, whether she could come to her 
birthday party. She'd never really noticed Fanny much 
before. She was just one of the many pupils who attended 
the dozen or so classes she taught. Not outstandingly 
bright, but not especially slow either. More conscientious 
than some of the pupils, particularly the boys. Somehow 
girls were more enthusiastic about Modern Languages than 
the boys who couldn't see any point in studying French, 
German, Arabic or Russian. She was one of the plumper 
pupils, but in a world of very fat people that was scarcely a 
matter that concerned her too much. That stomach of hers 
would have made her look permanently pregnant were it 
not part of a package of enormous breasts, a full round 
face, huge limbs and a bottom that overflowed even the 
very generous seats that pupils were supplied in the Further 
Quitchland schools. 

Qafira's initial instinct was to gratefully decline the offer, 
but after chatting in the staff room with Mrs Reagan, the 
English teacher, she decided that this would not be at all 
politic. 

"Surely there's got to be some kind of gulf between those 
who teach and those who are taught?" Qafira argued. "It 
would just compromise the normal teacher-pupil 
relationship."

Mrs Reagan frowned. "I don't see how. If anything it would 
surely strengthen that relationship. But I understand, my 
dear, that things are different for you back home, wherever 
that is. Here, it's just a normal thing. And in anycase, 
birthdays are rather special days in Further Quitchland. It is 
after all the only day where normal people are celebrated in 
their own right. It would not be very diplomatic to turn 
down an offer to attend a birthday. It's quite an honour to 
be invited. And it would be an insult not to go."

"I see," sighed Qafira, who had been rather dreading an 
evening of listening to adolescent pop music and watching 
adventure movies. "So I don't really have any choice?"

"Not if you want to retain the respect of your pupils and 
your fellow teachers," Mrs Reagan explained. She smiled 
indulgently. "However, if it's any consolation to you, you 
won't be the only teacher coming to Fanny's birthday. I 
shall be there as well."

Qafira was quite surprised. "So, Fanny's invited other 
teachers too?"

"Well, of course, Qafira sweetie. She wants to do what she 
can to improve her final grades from Fern Hill High."

When she arrived at Fanny's home, carrying a huge box of 
chocolates as a present, she was quite surprised at just how 
many other teachers had come, in addition to the two dozen 
or so her teenage friends. Why! Wasn't that Mr Walton in a 
rather unflattering Hawaiian shirt? And wasn't that Miss 
Watson, the Social Studies teacher, in an outfit that 
revealed every detail of her monstrous nipples and showed 
every centimetre of her titanic thighs? Fanny's home was 
large and opulent, as all houses seemed to be in the Fern 
Hill district, and the drive was full of cars as oversized as 
their drivers. Fanny was clearly a popular girl. And there 
was the birthday girl herself waddling down the steps of 
her house with a woman that looked quite similar to her, 
although substantially older, and was more than likely her 
mother.

"Hello, Qafira. I'm glad you could make it," said Fanny, 
kissing her on both cheeks and clasping her in her plump 
arms. "And some chocs as well! Belgian. My favourite. Is 
Belgium where you come from?"

"Well, no?" Qafira began, but with no chance to answer 
fully before she was similarly greeted by Fanny's mother, 
who was, if anything, dressed even more scantily than her 
daughter. At least the nipples were hidden, although the 
thighs were on full display and the stomach swelled out, 
with the stud in her navel on very prominent view.

"So, you're Qafira?" remarked Fanny's mother. "You really 
are very thin! You must eat more, my dear. It hurts me to 
see such a wisp of a thing as you."

Qafira nodded, but as she soon found out that even if she 
ate more at the party than she'd ever eaten before in a 
single sitting it was barely nothing compared to the huge 
volumes of crisps, cr^pes, sausage-on-sticks, slices of 
quiche, chicken wings, cheeseburgers, pizza slices or cake 
that her fellow guests were managing to force down their 
gullets with absolutely no evidence that they were even the 
slightest bit satiated. This gluttony was accompanied by a 
relatively modest consumption of wine and beer, but Qafira 
was soon feeling relatively tipsy from the few glasses she 
had, although this was tempered by the fact that after she'd 
been introduced to everyone she was mostly left to her own 
devices as to how to entertain herself. 

She mooched about the quite large garden attached to 
Fanny's home, only too conscious of the stares that 
followed her as she strode by. Although she was convinced 
it was because people could somehow sense exactly how 
unaccustomed she was to alcoholic drink, the truth was that 
most guests were simply astonished by her thinness. She 
found her way to the swimming pool, a modest affair that 
was too small to allow very much actual swimming, but 
was ideally suited to paddling in. As indeed were two of 
Fanny's schoolfriends, both naked and splashing about 
relatively innocently. 

Qafira sat down on an enormous sunbed, surely enough to 
accommodate two or three people, and nursed the third 
glass of dry white wine in her hands. It was a nice sunny 
day and the heat together with the early evening sun was 
making her feel quite relaxed.

"So, you're Fanny's chosen partner for the night, you lucky 
girl!" suddenly announced Mrs Reagan, sitting next to 
Qafira on an adjacent sunbed.

Qafira furrowed her brow. She measured up Mrs Reagan, a 
truly enormous woman, the fat of her upper arms as thick 
and full as Qafira's thighs and whose thighs were in turn 
broader than Qafira's waist. Even after all these months, 
Qafira was still astonished by the sheer immensity of the 
people of Further Quitchland. Unlike her, though, Mrs 
Reagan was dressed appropriately for sitting by a pool, 
wearing only a very slim bikini top, barely enough to hide 
her monstrous nipples, and a suggestion of a bikini bottom 
hidden under the folds of her overflowing stomach.

"Fanny's chosen partner? We all are, aren't we? This is an 
invitation only party, isn't it?"

"'Invitation only'?" puzzled Mrs Reagan. "Well, of 
course?" She trailed her pudgy fingers over Qafira's arm. 
"You mean Fanny hasn't told you yet?"

"Told me what?"

"Oh, nothing!" said Mrs Reagan, suddenly jumping up with 
a lightness that surprised Qafira in such a large woman. 
"Nothing at all. Nothing. But I must run. There's that nice 
Mr Garland. All by himself. Now that's a catch, if ever 
there was one. I wonder who his wife's with!" 

And then Qafira was left alone again as Mrs Reagan ran off 
to chat with another extremely corpulent man, who was 
wearing a bright blue shirt and truly elephantine shorts that 
could accommodate Qafira's waist in either leg. However, 
Qafira had got used to being left alone. It was always like 
this in Further Quitchland. People were somehow quite 
embarrassed about talking to her. And often when they did 
so, it was as if they wanted to talk about something else, 
but they were too embarrassed to actually mention what it 
was.

"Oh hi there!" sang Fanny's mother's voice, wandering 
along with two glasses of wine in her hand. "I'd wondered 
where you'd got to. Have another glass of Chardonnay. I 
noticed that's what you've been drinking. Not getting too 
bored, I hope?"

"No, not at all, Mrs Doyle," lied Qafira, who had already 
started plotting how she might make an early exit.

"Call me Milly, Qafira sweetheart. That's my name," 
smiled Fanny's mother sipping on her wine. "Well come 
along dear. It's time for Fanny to unwrap her presents."

"Presents?" wondered Qafira aghast. "I didn't know I had to 
bring any wrapped presents with me."

"No, that's not at all necessary," Mrs Doyle remarked. 
"Your presence is present enough! But come along, dear, 
everyone will be waiting for you!"

Qafira followed Mrs Doyle across the manicured lawn, 
past the garden sprinkler and the fat jolly garden gnomes to 
a shaded area on the lawn just by the patio where all the 
guests had already gathered and in the centre of which was 
Fanny who was eagerly opening her gifts. Through the 
slight haze of alcohol that was clouding her vision, Qafira 
could see that several guests had divested themselves of all 
their clothes, and not a few of these were her colleagues 
from the high school. Most of the guests were slumped 
down on the lawn and a seated Mrs Doyle patted the grass 
beside her to indicate that Qafira should do the same.

Qafira was slightly alarmed to see that Fanny was one of 
the people who were no longer clothed, but amongst all the 
folds and fullness of fat it was not immediately obvious to 
her. Somehow, full nudity just didn't seem so naked 
amongst people whose genitals were so hidden by their 
stomachs, although Fanny's nipples were truly immense. 
Qafira recalled her previous female lovers, and couldn't 
recall one whose nipples would have been nearly as much a 
mouthful as Fanny's.

Each present was opened by Fanny, who would first of all 
announce who had given her the present and then open it to 
delighted whoops and gales of laughter. Qafira became 
increasingly aware that she seemed to have been the only 
guest not to have brought Fanny a wrapped present, though 
it did cross her mind how strange it was that the guests 
seemed amazingly well apprised as to exactly what Fanny 
might want.

"How did Mr Merton, the Chemistry teacher, know that 
Fanny wanted a pair of purple trainers with air-filled 
soles?" Qafira whispered into Mrs Doyle's ear.

"It's all on the birthday list, dear."

"Birthday list?" This is the first time Qafira had heard of 
anything like that. And why hadn't she received one? She 
wanted to ask Mrs Doyle more, but her hostess chose that 
moment to stand up and stand by her daughter.

"Well, everyone?" she announced to the assembled 
guests. "We've all had a very good time, haven't we?"

The guests agreed. "Hear! Hear!" "Splendid!" 
"Wonderful!"

"And Fanny here is very grateful for all her presents, aren't 
you dear?"

Fanny nodded. She was already eating some chocolates 
she'd got as a gift, but she swallowed the truffle and 
smiled. "It was wonderful! I especially liked the Grant 
Grifter CD! Thanks Mr Grenville." An elderly teacher in a 
tweed jacket that could never button across his chest 
visibly blushed. "And Tracey got me such a beautiful 
necklace. It's gonna look good on my new twinset."

Tracey laughed. "It'll look good on whatever you wear. 
And it'll look good even when you're in bed!"

Everyone laughed. Except Qafira, who was not sure she 
quite understood what was meant. 

She was even more puzzled when Fanny replied promptly: 
"And don't you already know all about that, sweetest!" 

And this invoked even more laughter and few ribald 
guffaws. 

"But now comes the serious part of the evening," 
announced Mrs Doyle when the laughter had subsided. 
"Now Fanny'll choose who the lucky one's going to be the 
one whose present to my darling daughter is wrapped not 
so much in paper and ribbon but in his or her own flesh. 
Some of you might have already guessed who it might be, 
but for those who haven't there's going to be a big 
surprise." Mrs Doyle smiled broadly. "So, Fanny, 
sweetheart. Who's the lucky one?"

"Why, Qafira, of course!" Fanny announced with a jump 
and an enthusiastic clap of her hands.

There may well have been other guests who were as 
surprised as Qafira that she was the chosen one, but the 
teacher had no idea who they could be. In amongst the 
applause and congratulations that suddenly engulfed the 
woman who had been almost studiously ignored or avoided 
since the party began, Qafira was almost totally 
bewildered. 'Unexpected' was not a word strong enough to 
describe how little Qafira had suspected that she would 
now be expected to have sex with her pupil as her birthday 
present to her. What could she do? And was there still an 
escape route?

Clearly not, as she soon discovered. The push of other 
guests and Fanny's clasped hand guided her through the 
patio doors and up the carpeted staircase towards Fanny's 
bedroom, while all the way she was congratulated and 
cheered, most particularly by her staff room colleagues, 
who appeared to be the ones most pleased for her. The 
alcohol wasn't the only thing blurring her senses as her 
confused eyes regarded Fanny's door getting ever closer 
and felt Fanny's huge arm and podgy hand easily encircling 
her waist.

And then, finally, what had before it happened seemed to 
be the respite from attention she'd been seeking, but was 
also what she'd been dreading most, the door to Fanny's 
bedroom was closed behind her, and it was just Qafira and 
her student together in a huge room dominated by a 
massive bed and decorated mostly in lilac, pinks and blues. 
The only additional eyes staring down on her were those of 
the grotesquely obese film and pop stars whose features 
were on every poster, except the one of a rather tubby 
gryphon just behind the bed rest.

"So! Alone at last!" exclaimed Fanny, standing in front of 
Qafira, her hands on either side of her teacher's hips.

"Yes. Alone," agreed Qafira, with no enthusiasm.

"So. Off with your clothes! Let's see what you're like!"

"My clothes?"

"Well, of course. Unless, that is," Fanny said with a sly 
wicked grin, "you prefer to make love fully clothed. That 
would be kinky!"

Qafira shook her head. She was still unsure what to do. It 
had never ever crossed her mind until then to have sex with 
Fanny. Or indeed with any other of her pupils. She wasn't 
even sure what she thought of Fanny. She was two, maybe 
three, times the size of any woman (or, for that matter, 
man) that she'd ever made love to before. She didn't know 
what to do. If only this ordeal could be over!

However, Fanny was less hesitant. She pressed her lips 
against Qafira's, a huge tongue finding its way into the 
mouth, while her pudgy hands undid the buttons on the 
back of her floral pattern dress. That tongue was still 
worrying its way around Qafira's mouth, her hands limply 
held onto the huge fat of Fanny's waist, when the dress fell 
to the ground. To be followed by her bra and then, with 
much more difficulty, her knickers. 

Fanny was an accomplished lover. That was for sure. She 
tenderly and gradually eased Qafira towards the bed. But 
each stage in the process was relished and enjoyed and 
enhanced. The knickers, for instance, weren't tugged down 
with the animal passion that Qafira's last lover insisted on, 
but eased slowly down the legs, Fanny's tongue licking the 
knees, the thighs, the ankles, and, when the knickers were 
finally removed, Qafira's crotch and unerringly to her 
clitoris, which was licked and massaged and twiddled and 
nibbled.

And then onto the bed. This was something new for both of 
them. Qafira had never tackled such a monstrous, whale-
like bulk before. Fanny was terribly uncertain of what was 
possible with such a slender, almost delicate frame, 
unprotected from injury by any substantial cushion of flesh. 
But the two bodies grappled together. And gradually, bit by 
bit, cautious tongue by reticent nibble, Qafira was 
sufficiently reminded of her own passion with her lovers in 
the past, to return the passion that was offered her. And 
there was clearly something delightful about engaging with 
so much body. Even if it was difficult for her mouth to find 
its way to Fanny's crotch past the fleshy thighs squeezing 
against her ears

"Well, that's one thing you skinny types can do easily!" 
laughed Fanny, as Qafira nibbled at her clitoris, the smell 
of vaginal emissions overpowering her nostrils.

"What's that?" Qafira wondered, raiding her head to regard 
the top of her student's head over the massive bulk of the 
stomach and breasts.

"Get straight to the private parts. You're so much supple! 
And your own vagina! It's so easy to get to. Why! You can 
see all of it when you're just standing up. You might not 
have much in the way of a bosom, but you've got plenty of 
cunt. You can see all the hair and even the folds. I guess 
you don't go much for nudity back where you come from?"

"What me? No. I don't."

"No just you. Everyone. If everyone showed their genitals, 
instead of them being hidden, you know, as they should be, 
under the stomach, well, who knows what might happen!"

Qafira nodded. And returned her tongue and lips to the 
folds of vagina, already partially obscured by the folds of 
Fanny's huge thighs and overflowing belly.

Despite Qafira's dreads, her night of passion with Fanny 
was soon absorbed into the normal fabric of life. No one 
made any comments other than the most bland and she 
never had sex with Fanny again. However, a Rubicon had 
been crossed and more men and women felt confident 
enough to approach this strange foreign woman, perhaps 
curious to know what such a skeletal, frail lover would be 
like. And although Qafira never enjoyed the volume of 
lovemaking as her more popular colleagues, like Mrs 
Reagan or Mr Lincoln, she was no longer as lonely for the 
rest of her sabbatical in Further Quitchland.

And just as initially it had been strange to make love with 
such very fat people as she did now, she knew that when 
she returned home she would find it just as strange making 
love again with men and women so very much slimmer.




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

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