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Message-ID: <57176asstr$1200453002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Joris Huysmans <joriskhuysmans@hotmail.com>
Importance: Normal
Subject: {ASSM} Book Tour Groupies (MFF, BBW, group, feet)
Lines: 387
Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2008 22:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


BOOK TOUR GROUPIES by Joris K.  Huysmans

   Trent and Chuck were best friends since grade school.  They were always
looking for beautiful girls at College State and since they were both very
muscular and well-hung and independently wealthy they had no problem in
that department.  But Chuck had never met Trent's mom before so when I
first saw Mrs.  Smithson I couldn't believe my eyes!  Though she was older
and kind of big assed she was totally hot, with enormous tits easy to see
through her sheer braless blouse unbuttoned down to her navel.  "Hey Trent
is it okay if I fuck your totally hot mom," I, Chuck, said, and Trent said
"Hey bro why not I do it all the time-

   * * *

   Huysmans, the great Schmertzylvanian author of BBW erotica, set the
story down and massaged his forehead in actual pain.  As the world's most
famous author of BBW erotica, a cult figure beloved throughout America (and
into parts of Canada), he often received other authors' stories by email.
Remembering his years of struggle and hardship, he was unfailingly
courteous to these aspiring writers, but sometimes it was difficult...

   * * *

   Dear Rod Throbbin,

   Huysmans thanks you from the bottom of his Schmertzylvanian heart for
your generous offer to let him read and edit your true story, "Totally Hot
Milf-Dicking With My Friend's Big-Assed Hot Mom." With regret Huysmans
expresses the opinion that you should perhaps take another stab at writing
hot BBW erotica before submitting stories to the world, which can be very
cruel to beginning writer as Huysmans well remembers.

   Huysmans believes in starting erotica story not with sex act desired but
with characters drawn from real life.  By sketching picture of such
characters and the world in which they live, is more believable and sexy
when sex enters the story.  As famous Lord Chesterfield might have said if
he had been teaching a night school writing class, are only so many sex
acts, most of them ridiculous to outsiders; only by telling story of
interesting, believable people finding their way to doing them can sex acts
become dramatic and enthralling.

   * * *

   Huysmans thought of the inspirations that lay behind some of his
stories. Sometimes it took no more than a face to conjure up an entire
character-- the flush-faced yet mysteriously exhilarated middle-aged woman
walking past the garden store who inspired "Hawaiian Baby Woodrose"; the
round girl at the hot dog stand, long since torn down, whose dark and
mysterious eyes had led him to write "The Goddess Ramona." Other times it
was a place-- the inn out west that had started him thinking about what the
lives of the people who worked there would be like, and thus led to "A Maid
in Montana," or the bar in the tropics where things like "Big Beautiful
Beach" happened all too easily, as Huysmans well knew from experience.

   He saved the email on his laptop to send once the plane landed, and
turned to the next story:

   * * *

   The next day it was most warm and as I sat in the courtyard of our
binjhari I saw Auntie come up to me again.  Her large breasts were most
active inside her sheer kemara and it inspired lustful thoughts of which I
was most ashamed, yet I desired heartily to place my dongabo inside her
pichocha and frottage until the baby-juice erupted.  "Oh Auntie, I am most
tired, will you not lie next to me on my harari and aid me in my sleeping?"
I asked.  "Naughty boy, I think if I am to lie next to you there will be no
sleeping but much agitation of the lower parts," she replied-

   * * *

   Dear Sanjay21,

   Huysmans thanks you with the hearty gratitude of his Schmertzylvanian
horsemen ancestors for allowing him to read your story, "Temptation in the
Binjhari of Auntie." He understands your apprehension at sharing such a
story with the world, but he does not feel that correcting your English
(even if Huysmans were up to the task personally) is the answer.  Though
there are, to Huysmans' eye, ways in which your story does not read like
that of American writer, still, it is precisely the authenticity of your
story in its setting which makes it memorably erotic.  Huysmans urges you
to write like yourself for you, and not worry about sounding like American
writer.

   * * *

   The stewardess called for electronic devices to be put away, and
Huysmans shut his MacBookPro down.  What city was he going to?  He could
scarcely remember from one flight to the next.  Since the movie adaptation
of The Sapphic Pirate Miranda with Anne Hathaway and Dawn French had come
out, his life had been a whirlwind of book tours, signings...  and, of
course, groupies.  There was no shortage of BBW femaledom on hand at each
signing, eager to experience firsthand the Schmertzylvanian lovemaking
secrets of the world's most famous (and, with his waxed mustaches and aroma
of horse-leather and brandy, dashingly handsome) writer of BBW erotica.

   Once this would have been too absurd a dream even for one of his first
stories, pecked out by hand on his TRS-80 and uploaded to the earliest and
crudest erotica BBSs.  The kind of ridiculous fantasy that made sex stories
on the internet hard to swallow, even when the sex was well described.  But
now it was commonplace-- to walk into a Barnes & Noble and see hundreds of
BBWs clutching his book, some young and sexually confident in their
bellyshirts and piercings, others older and more reserved yet eager to
explore the sexuality that his stories had unlocked, and to know that he
could show a little favor to one or another and they would be his, tonight,
in his hotel room.

   It was a dream come true...  and so Huysmans prepared for it, yet again,
third time this week.

   * * *

   He had signed 50 already, but the line of large women-- big bosoms, pear
shaped behinds, rolling bellies like "A Girl at the Mall," apple cheeks
like Andie Thorsen in "Better Than Watching Leno"-- still trailed around
the corner and out of view.

   Two young women appeared before him, obviously together.  One was tall
and sturdy, rolls of fat along her side, thighs straining the jeans they
were encased within, a toothy smile and freckled complexion framed by an
orange pageboy `do.  The other was shorter and rounder, blonde and
soft-skinned, blue eyes like...  like...  after so long on the road, the
only simile that came to Huysmans' mind was a hotel pool.

   "Who shall I sign these to?" Huysmans asked.

   "Make mine out to Trish," the orange-haired giantess said.

   Huysmans opened the jacket and wrote, "To Trish, whose fiery hair shall
set my nights aflame with desire, Huysmans." "And yours?" he said to the
smaller blonde.

   "I'm Muriel," she said.

   Huysmans scribbled, "For Muriel, whose name sounds like `la Mer' and
whose blue eyes will flood my memory whenever I gaze upon water."

   She looked at it and giggled nervously, as if she had something to say.
But she couldn't get it out and so Trish stepped in.  "So...  do you want a
play date?"

   Muriel said, "Let me talk to Trish first.  Find out what day is good for
her."

   He recognized the dialogue, of course-- cribbed, a little confusedly,
from "Play Date With Pam." Often this was how they approached him, with his
own words.  He looked at them.  Youthful, nervous but eager, a pair of
mismatched but equally lush peaches-- why not?

   * * *

   Pop!  went the champagne bottle, waiting on the table in his hotel suite
as the girls prepared themselves in the bathroom.  He poured three glasses,
and was about to do something else when they opened the door unexpectedly.
He palmed the little blue pill and handed them their glasses, then raised
his in a toast; as he sipped he slipped the pill into his mouth unnoticed.

   Trish, as he might have guessed, was bolder in her lingerie, a slutty
red teddy whose jagged neckline exposed much of the fetchingly freckled
cleavage between her large dangling breasts.  Muriel was more traditional
in black and purple lace and satin, concealing rather than revealing the
pepper-pot shape underneath, but most admirably dolled up with bright red
lipstick and false eyelashes.

   They wasted no time.  The two of them grabbed Huysmans and started
unbuttoning his shirt as Muriel stuck her beestung lips on his, and he felt
her tongue probe hungrily inside.  Hands roamed over his chest and pants as
he felt Trish's butt under the soft satin and stroked his hand over the top
of Muriel's large, heaving bosom.  His belt was unbuckled and he was pushed
backwards into the bedroom and onto a bed.  Muriel was atop him first, her
weight pressing him down as she rubbed her breasts still in their restraint
across his face.  Then Trish unsnapped them and they tumbled out, enormous
and heavy, sweet-smelling and a little sticky where she'd sweated under the
lingerie.  He sucked one of the thumb-like nipples into his mouth and he
felt someone cup his balls and stroke up and down.  Trish took off her
teddy and her breasts too fell free, swaying from side to side with every
move she made.  He took one of each in his hands and sucked from one to the
other; then Muriel began moving down and took his cock in her hand, licking
and kissing the head while Trish tongue-kissed him and he rubbed her soft,
puffy belly.

   As he licked and sucked her tits, he felt up her inner thighs into the
warmth and steaminess deep inside her skirt.  She backed up onto the bed
and spread her legs.  Now he couldn't see her face or her breasts; she was
just a pair of legs attached to a big round ass, and it was his, all his.
He pulled down her panties to reveal curly red hair there, too, and she let
her thighs relax a bit and open to show the bright purple slit, a slight
hint of dampness making a line which slowly opened the petals of her pussy.
He kissed his way up the big soft thighs until he reached her pussy, and
then he began to lick, slowly and carefully, around the outside of her
lips. She squirmed, ticklish, and so he grabbed her meaty thighs and spread
them wider, then touched tongue to slit for the first time.

   She squealed and shivered.  "You liked that?" he whispered.

   "I thought for a second you shot me with the electroprod again," she
said, quoting "Escape From Thinopolis," and then her lower half seemed to
call him back to his work.  "Get on with it!"

   He licked away, tongue rammed up as far as it could reach, and then he
had an idea.  She rolled over quickly and stuck her big round ass up in the
air as he spread her legs again and started to lick her pussy from behind.
Soon he was smashing his face between those fat round globes and moving his
tongue.  It didn't take long of his tongue working its way as far as it
would go into her asshole (which was less than half an inch) before he
could tell that she had reached down and started masturbating as he did it.

   As Trish got into herself he decided to help her out in another way.  He
slid a finger into her pussy and then started tickling her ass with the
next one.  That seemed to get a good moan in response, so he started to
slide it in, wetting it some more as it went in.  She moaned harder and so
he began fucking her with his fingers, one in her pussy and one in her ass,
and she bucked and rode his fingers as they slid in and out in unison and
he could feel each one on the other side of the thin muscle wall in
between.

   By this point he had twisted to where his cock was out of Muriel's
reach, and so she pushed him over so that his ass was in the air.

   Before he had time to be apprehensive-- well, before he had time to act
on it, anyway-- she had spread him open and was licking up and down his
crack, then jamming her tongue into his ass.  Then he heard the cap on the
lube open and a moment later he felt her finger slide into his ass, gently
and caringly.  She stood up but continued to slide her finger in and out,
slowly and seductively, stroking his balls as they hung below and his hard
dick swung back and forth.  He heard some sort of movement, a clicking and
rubbing sound, and then her finger came out, but he was too dazed to move.

   Suddenly something was at his asshole again.  He felt something press
against it and then in an instant it had popped inside him.  It slid all
the way in, and then he felt her thighs pressing against his and he knew
what it was.  Muriel was fucking him with a strap-on dildo.  He was
powerless, he could only accept it, that he was being ass-fucked by a fat
lady who acted like she owned him.  Just like in his story "Tech Support."

   Trish scooted back to watch as Muriel pounded Huysmans' ass, and once
she was settled she pressed her foot against his cock, while playing with
one of her tits.  She squeezed the nipple, then licked at it and sucked it
into her mouth.  As her chunky thigh pistoned up and down, her foot working
his cock, he moaned and saw glistening spurts of his seed fly up, catch
moonlight, and fall down upon her foot and between her toes.

   He collapsed, exhausted.  Trish looked at him, and then she shook her
foot, spattered with his cum, and whispered, "Don't you think you better
clean it up?"

   Oh God, not "Temptress in the Temple." "Get on your knees," she said,
"and clean my foot with your tongue."

   Huysmans was revolted-- and yet the command of a big beautiful woman, to
lick her foot, to suck on those toes, was irresistible.  He bent down and
touched his tongue to the cool cum and sucked it inside.  It wasn't
horrible, he sucked it down and swallowed the first glob quickly enough;
the second one he kept on his tongue and swirled around her big toe before
swallowing it and licking it clean, bobbing his head up and down on the
toe.

   He rolled over, exhausted, as the girls, not yet satiated, now turned
toward each other.  Muriel pushed Trish's legs apart to show her beautiful
feminine flowers.  She kissed her way up those fat jiggly thighs, cupped
her broad round ass under her arms and squeezed her fat ass cheeks,
kneading them so that her pussy and asshole each smooshed together with
each squeeze.

   Then, at last, she put her tongue out and ran it along Trish's sweet
orchid, her slippery purple labia, getting that first tongue-on-metal taste
as her tongue skated across the top of it.  Trish shivered and moaned "Oh
God, yes." Muriel dove in again, lifting the petals apart with her tongue,
past the thicker skin of the outer lips and finding her way into the
smoother, wetter velvet inside.  Her nose burrowed into Trish's pubic hair
as her tongue went deep into that hot slippery hole and my hands kneaded
that enormous ass like it was dough.

   Trish started writhing, her massive tits bounding up and down on either
side of her, that alabaster whale tummy shifting up and down, and Muriel
picked up the pace on her rubbery clit.  She pushed her legs up, revealing
the wrinkly brown hole below her love tunnel, and as she rubbed her clit
with her finger she let her tongue dive into that peppery pucker below. 
She practically screamed, biting the pillow she clutched in one hand as the
other massaged one of those giant tits.  Muriel switched back to chewing on
her clit but rubbed her asshole with her index finger, and her ass
practically sucked it inside.  She kept up the rhythm, licking her clit as
she pile-drove her asshole with her finger, and it was only a few more
moments before Trish came, her ass pulsing around Muriel's finger and her
cunt throbbing in Muriel's face.

   * * *

   After the girls had left Huysmans sat on the bed, his erection still not
entirely gone thanks to the blue pill.  He had been all Old World courtesy
to the girls as they dressed and prepared to leave, but as he had bid them
farewell he had felt saddened, that their dynamism and enthusiasm deserved
something better than his jaded, ennui-ridden self.  Here he was, at the
pinnacle of his fame, able to have almost any BBW he desired with just a
wink and a nod-- and yet it had become boring, this endless round of sex
acts which he could not help but think of in the terms of his stories.  He
no longer enjoyed the novelty of desire and conquest; now every act seemed
to have been lifted straight from the pages of something he had already
written and long since put behind him.

   That night he made a resolution.  There was a week before his next
appearance; he had no obligations until then.  He arose early the next
morning, rented a convertible sports car at a nearby agency, tossed a small
bag in the back and left the rest to be shipped home, and lit out of the
city.

   In 20 minutes he was in the suburbs.  In another 10 he was in true farm
country, far from urbanity and celebrity.  It suddenly occurred to him that
he had not eaten breakfast, and he wasn't sure when an opportunity to do so
would present itself-- and then he saw an old white clapboard restaurant
with a faded sign, Stop Inn Cafe.  It might have closed forty years ago, by
the look of it, but the trucks in the parking lot suggested otherwise.  He
swerved in and parked, pausing only to grab a hardback copy of "The Sapphic
Pirate Miranda And Other Stories" from his bag.

   He saw her the minute he opened the door.  Dark eyed and dark haired,
soft pink skin, cheeks like a pillow he could rest in for months.  Broad
hips, an hourglass waist (well, a couple of hours' glass), big round
breasts like a pair of bowling balls let loose to roll around under the
plain pink cotton of her waitress's uniform.  He sat at the counter, and
unobtrusively placed his book, cover side up, beside him.

   A faint flicker of a smile at Huysmans' exotic appearance, but the word
that came out was all business.  "Coffee?"

   "Please." He turned the book over, revealing the author photo on the
back.

   She poured his coffee.  "Do you know what you want or do you need a few
minutes?"

   Oh, he knew what he wanted.  It was intoxicating just seeing her lean
against the counter, the edge swallowed up in the soft folds of her belly,
her breasts jutting into her space, the softness of her chubby arms (no
ring, he noted quickly), almost close enough to nuzzle as she held the
ordering pad over him.  Ever the author, he began to notice details that
hinted at a life lived yet half-mysterious-- the shoe-shaped scar on her
forearm, a tattoo of a heart and a cartoon cat on her neckline, a photo of
herself and some other girl taped to the cash register, labeled "Akron or
Bust!!!" Then he noticed something else-- impatience.  "Two eggs, sunny
side up, hash browns, wheat toast, please."

   "Comin' right up," she said, and disappeared.

   She hadn't noticed the book.  Maybe she'd never even heard of the book,
of "The Sapphic Pirate Miranda," of him.  A BBW who had no idea who the
great author Huysmans was!  The thought tantalized him.  Seducing her,
savoring those big round breasts, burying himself in those sturdy thighs,
kissing that puffy neck and stroking those soft pink cheeks-- it would take
more than just pointing and beckoning.  It would take getting to her know
her, slowly, unthreateningly, it would take asking her out, not rushing
things, not expecting anything.  It would take understanding her world,
being interested in her and making her interested in him, all before the
sex acts which are interesting only when they come naturally from the
characters of real human beings.

   He put the book at his feet.  His pulse was quickening.  The chase was
on.  He felt alive again.  When the time came, if it came, if he was so
fortunate, he wouldn't need any little blue pill.

   * * *

   All of the BBW stories by Huysmans mentioned above can be found at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Joris_K_Huysmans/BBWs/

   _________________________________________________________________ Make
distant family not so distant with Windows Vista(R) + Windows Live(TM). 
http://www.microsoft.com/windows/digitallife/keepintouch.mspx?ocid=TXT_TAGL
M_CPC_VideoChat_distantfamily_012008

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