Chapter 5: Between the Fat Thighs
Peter’s world dissolved into softness, warmth, and the overwhelming, musky-sweet scent of Lacey’s skin. His face was buried deep in the yielding expanse of her lower belly, the pillowy flesh above her straining black knickers creating a warm, dimpled cocoon. He felt utterly engulfed. Her heartbeat thumped a muffled rhythm against his temple, syncopated with her heavy breaths that made the immense softness around him rise and fall. He could feel the solid pressure beneath the plush layers – the undeniable proof of her gluttonous feast packed tight.
He inhaled deeply, the air thick with vanilla, warm woman, and the ghost of rich gravy. A groan vibrated in his own chest, low and involuntary, muffled by the flesh pressed against his mouth. He shifted slightly, nuzzling deeper, his lips finding the soft crease where her vast belly spilled heavily onto the tops of her thick, dimpled thighs. The skin there was impossibly soft, a landscape of warm velvet.
Lacey sighed above him, a sound of deep contentment that resonated through her body. Her fingers tightened possessively in his hair, not pulling, just holding him securely against her. "Feels good, Pete," she murmured, her voice husky and thick with pleasure. "You buried in there. Like a big, warm pillow, my belly is." She shifted her immense hips, a monumental movement that sent ripples through the flesh surrounding his face. The bedsprings beneath them shrieked a protest. "Told you it was a masterpiece. Best fuckin' cushion ever."
He managed a muffled affirmative sound, his hands finding purchase on her flanks. His fingers sank deep into the deep, yielding flesh above her hips, kneading the softness. The sheer scale of her, the heat radiating from her overstuffed core, was intoxicating. He felt drunk on it. His lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses against the warm skin, tracing the faint silver stretch marks he could feel beneath his touch, tasting the saltiness. The primal intimacy of it – his face pressed against the very symbol of her indulgence – sent electric currents through him. His cock throbbed painfully hard against the restriction of his jeans.
Lacey’s chuckle rumbled through her belly against his face. "Someone's eager," she teased, her fingers teasing the nape of his neck. "Like the view down there, do ya? All warm and soft?" She shifted again, deliberately this time, grinding her hips subtly upwards, pressing the immense curve of her lower belly more firmly against his imprisoned erection, eliciting another choked groan from him. "My big belly got you all hot and bothered, muscle man?"
He pulled his face back slightly, gasping for air, his mouth wet from her skin. His eyes, dark and dilated, swept upwards over the incredible landscape. The vast, pale expanse of her belly dominated his vision, the deep navel like a dark pool, the black lace of the knickers cutting a desperate line through the softness below. Above it, her immense breasts rested heavily, pale moons against her flushed skin. Her green eyes watched him, alight with mischief and naked desire. "Fuck, Lace," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "It's... you're..."
She grinned, a predatory flash of white teeth. "Yeah? Tell me." Her hand slid from his hair down to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing his bottom lip. "Tell me what you see. What you want."
His gaze dropped back down, fixated on the straining black fabric stretched impossibly tight over the monumental swell of her hips and the soft, plump mound beneath. The lace was damp, darkened slightly in the centre. A fresh wave of her scent, muskier now, richer, hit him. "Want this," he growled, his hand moving down, his fingertips brushing the damp lace, feeling the heat radiating through it. "Need to taste you. Need to feel you."
Lacey’s breath hitched. She spread her thick thighs wider, a silent, powerful invitation, the movement making the soft flesh of her inner thighs quiver. "Then get busy, Pete," she commanded, her voice low and thick. "Don't make a girl beg. Though," she added with a dirty chuckle, shifting her hips again to press herself against his tentative touch, "I bloody well will if I have to. Wanted this since I saw you lift me like I was nothin'. Knew you could handle me."
That did it. The raw need in her voice, the sheer confidence mingled with the promise of desperation, shattered his remaining restraint. With a guttural groan that came from deep in his chest, Peter surged upwards slightly. His strong hands found the immense, pillowy softness of her thighs just above her knees. He lifted.
It wasn't effortless. The sheer mass of her legs, dense and heavy with fat and muscle, required significant strength. His biceps corded, shoulders bunching. But he lifted them smoothly, raising her thick legs, bending them at the knees. Her legs were soft, yielding, yet undeniably heavy, a warm, substantial weight. Dimples puckered the pale skin behind her knees. The movement caused her lower belly to shift and wobble dramatically, spilling further over the knickers. He positioned himself squarely between her spread thighs, his knees sinking into the yielding mattress. The heat radiating from her core intensified, a palpable furnace.
Lacey gasped, her eyes widening slightly. "Bloody hell," she breathed, staring down at him framed by her immense thighs, her gaze flicking to his straining arms. "You just... lifted my legs... like they were... fuck." A flush spread across her chest and cheeks, deeper than arousal – sheer, incredulous pleasure at his demonstration of strength applied to her vast body. "See? Told you. Built for me." She settled back onto her elbows, pushing her chest out, her freed breasts swaying heavily. Her stomach rose prominently, taut and round. "Now, less lookin', more tastin', muscle man. Get your face where it belongs."
Her words, the unabashed demand, sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to his groin. He lowered himself, his hands sliding up the soft, flabby expanse of her inner thighs, feeling the warm skin, the yielding fat beneath. The scent of her arousal was stronger here, musky and sweet, mingling with the vanilla and the lingering ghost of her meal. He nudged her legs wider with his shoulders, feeling the incredible warmth emanating from her core. His gaze fixed on the black lace stretched obscenely tight over her plump mound. The damp patch had darkened, the fabric clinging to the soft contours beneath.
He leaned in, his breath hot against the damp lace. He could see the faint outline of her labia, the fabric straining. He pressed his lips against the warm, damp fabric, right over the centre. He felt the heat, the slight give, the slight tremor that ran through her body above him.
Lacey moaned, a low, hungry sound that vibrated in her chest. "Yesss," she hissed. Her hand found his hair again, fingers tangling tight. "That's it. Fuckin' get on with it. Take 'em off. Need your mouth. Now."
He didn't need telling twice. His fingers hooked into the sides of the knickers, finding the elastic waistband stretched impossibly thin over the swell of her hips. He tugged. It resisted fiercely, bound by the sheer volume of flesh. He tugged harder, his knuckles brushing the soft, dimpled skin of her lower belly and hips. With a final, determined grunt from him and a soft gasp from her, he peeled the damp lace down over the monumental curve of her hips and vast ass cheeks. He pulled them down her thick thighs, over her knees, finally freeing her completely. He tossed the knickers aside, a damp, discarded flag on the battlefield.
The sight stole his breath. She was utterly exposed. Her pussy was a plump, swollen mound, glistening wetly in the dim light, nestled between the immense softness of her inner thighs and the vast, overhanging swell of her lower belly. Dark blonde curls framed the slick, pink folds. The sheer abundance, the raw, wet reality of her arousal framed by her overwhelming fat, was almost too much. He could see how her belly pressed down slightly, the soft fat encroaching, emphasizing the plumpness of her sex.
"Christ," Peter breathed, the word thick with awe.
Lacey spread her thighs wider still, an unashamed display. Her hand tightened in his hair. "Stop bloody gawkin'," she panted, her voice ragged with need. "Get your mouth on me. Taste my fat pussy. Show me what that tongue can do. Need it, Pete. Need it."
The raw desperation in her plea, coupled with the breathtaking view, obliterated any remaining hesitation. With a low growl of pure hunger, Peter surged forward. He buried his face between her massive thighs, his mouth finding the slick heat of her. His tongue pressed flat against her plump, wet folds, lapping upwards in one long, slow stroke.
Lacey cried out. Her body arched off the bed, a powerful undulation that made her immense belly and breasts wobble heavily. Her thighs clamped instinctively around his head, soft, warm, powerful. "FUCK! YES! Like that! Oh fuck, Pete!"
He devoured her. His tongue explored the soft, swollen flesh, tracing her contours, seeking the hard nub of her clit. He found it, slick and hot, and circled it firmly. Her taste flooded his senses – musky, sweet, uniquely hers, sharp and addictive beneath the lingering vanilla. He sucked gently, then harder, his lips and tongue working in concert. His hands gripped her flabby thighs, anchoring himself, feeling the soft flesh yield beneath his fingers as her body bucked against his mouth.
Her moans escalated, raw and uninhibited, filling the warm, sweet-scented room. Her hands scrabbled at the duvet, then flew back to his head, holding him hard against her. "Don't stop! Fuck! Right there! Oh God, your tongue... on my fat cunt... so fucking good!" Her hips began to roll, grinding herself against his face with increasing urgency, seeking more friction, more pressure. "Eat it! Eat me out! Stuff your face in it! Make me come on your tongue!"
He obeyed. He plunged his tongue deeper, delving inside her wet heat, then swirling back to torment her clit. He used his lips, his chin, his entire face, pressing into her softness, lost in the scent, the taste, the overwhelming sensation of her massive body writhing under his mouth. The bed creaked and groaned violently with each powerful thrust of her hips. Her cries grew louder, more desperate, punctuated by gasping breaths. "Yes! Yes! Harder! Fuck! I'm gonna... Pete! I'm fucking... OH!"
Her thighs clamped like vices around his head. Her entire enormous body tensed, a powerful tremor shaking her from her flushed breasts down to her thick ankles. A guttural cry ripped from her throat, raw and triumphant. Wetness flooded against his mouth and chin as she ground herself hard against his face, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing through her. He kept his mouth locked on her, drinking her in, feeling the powerful contractions, the tremors vibrating through the soft flesh of her thighs and belly pressed against him.
She collapsed back onto the bed with a heavy, shuddering sigh, her body going limp, a vast, trembling landscape of spent ecstasy. Her thighs finally relaxed their crushing grip, falling open bonelessly. Her chest heaved, making her immense breasts sway. Her green eyes were glazed, fixed somewhere on the ceiling, a dazed, utterly satisfied smile spreading slowly across her flushed face. Sweat glistened on her brow and the ample curves of her cleavage.
Peter pulled back slowly, breathing hard. His chin and mouth were slick with her. He looked up at her, sprawled in magnificent, exhausted abandon, the vast expanse of her belly rising and falling rapidly. The air hung thick with the scent of sex, sweat, vanilla, and her unique, musky sweetness. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his own arousal a tight, demanding ache.
Lacey turned her head slowly, her gaze focusing on him with lazy, post-coital intensity. She reached a trembling hand down, her fingers brushing his damp cheek. Her smile turned wicked, possessive. "Told you," she breathed, her voice hoarse but thick with satisfaction. "Built. For. Me." Her fingers trailed lower, brushing the prominent bulge straining against his jeans. "Now," she murmured, her eyes darkening with renewed hunger as she gripped him possessively through the denim. "What are we gonna do about this, eh?"
Lacey’s grip tightened, a hot, demanding pressure through the denim. Peter hissed, the sharp bite of need overriding everything else – the lingering taste of her on his lips, the heavy scent of sex and sweat in the humid air. He fumbled with his belt, hands clumsy with urgency, eyes locked on her sprawled, glistening form. The buckle clattered.
"Need you in me, Pete," Lacey growled, her voice still thick from her climax but charged with fresh hunger. "Now. None of that gentle shite." She shoved her hips up, a monumental heave that sent her belly rippling, the vast curve momentarily obscuring his view of her glistening sex before settling heavily back onto the mattress. "Fuck me like you mean it. Show me those muscles aren't just for liftin'."
The button popped. The zip rasped down. He shoved jeans and boxers past his hips, freeing himself, thick and straining. The cool air was a shock against his heated skin. He kicked the tangled fabric away, kneeling back between her immense, spread thighs. The sheer scale of her, the warmth radiating from her core, the damp, musky scent – it was overwhelming. His gaze swept from the dark blonde curls, slick and parted, up over the vast swell of her lower belly, pale and dimpled, to her heavy breasts swaying with each breath. He saw the challenge in her green eyes. Built for me.
He gripped her flabby hips, fingers sinking deep into the yielding flesh, finding purchase on solid bone beneath the layers of softness. He leaned forward, bracing one hand beside her head, the other guiding himself. The head of his cock bumped against her slick heat, sending a jolt through them both. Lacey gasped, her belly tightening briefly. "Fucking do it, Peter," she commanded, nails digging into his shoulders. "Stop teasin'."
He drove forward. Not a slow slide, but a forceful, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one go. Her wet heat clamped down on him, incredibly tight despite her size, engulfing him in slick, yielding pressure. Lacey cried out, a sharp, wordless sound of shock and pleasure. Her head slammed back against the pillow, eyes wide then fluttering shut. Her immense legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, thick thighs clamping hard, leveraging her weight to pull him deeper still. Her soft belly pressed flush against his abdomen, a hot, yielding pillow.
"Christ, Lace," Peter groaned, the sensation almost too intense – the incredible tightness, the engulfing heat, the immense softness of her body surrounding and pressing against him. He pulled back slowly, feeling every ridge and contour, then slammed home again. The impact shook the bed hard. A sharp, wet slap echoed in the room – flesh hitting flesh. Lacey moaned, long and low, her hips rising to meet his downward surge. "Yesss! Like that! Harder! Give it to me!"
He found a brutal rhythm. Short, powerful strokes, driving deep with each one, using the grip on her hips for leverage. Her body absorbed each thrust with a heavy jiggle – her belly wobbling violently, her breasts swinging, her thighs quivering against his sides. Sweat slicked his skin, mingling with hers. Grunts tore from his throat, punctuating the wet slap-slap-slap of their joining and Lacey's increasingly ragged cries. "Fuck! Yes! Fill me up! God, your cock... feels massive... stuffing me!"
Her nails raked down his back, sharp lines of fire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. "Kiss me," she demanded against his mouth, then claimed it fiercely, her tongue plunging in, tasting herself on him. It was messy, desperate, teeth clashing. He kissed her back just as hard, biting her lower lip, swallowing her gasps. She broke away, panting. "Look at me," she gasped. "Look at what you're doing to me. Look at my fat belly taking it."
He did. His gaze dropped between them. His lean torso pistoned against the immense, soft wall of her belly. With each deep thrust, the pale flesh rippled outward in waves, the deep navel contracting. Her flushed skin glistened. He watched, mesmerized, as his own body disappeared into hers, the sheer physicality of it – her overwhelming softness yielding to his force – igniting something primal. A fresh surge of power flooded him. He gripped her hips tighter, fingers digging deep, and fucked her harder. Deeper. Rougher.
Lacey’s cries became primal screams. "YES! OH FUCK! THERE! RIGHT THERE! DON'T STOP! MAKE ME FEEL IT!" Her back arched spectacularly, lifting her immense form off the bed for a second, her vast breasts thrust skyward. She bore down on him, her internal muscles clenching rhythmically, desperately, trying to milk him. "Gonna make me... fuck... again! Do it! Make me come on your cock!"
Her thighs clamped like vices, her whole enormous body tensing, coiling. A tremor ran through her, starting deep inside where he was buried and radiating outwards – belly, breasts, thighs all shaking violently. Her mouth opened in a silent scream for a split second before sound ripped out – a guttural, animalistic roar that filled the room. Her pussy convulsed around him in powerful, relentless spasms, drenching him in fresh wet heat.
Peter held himself deep within her as she convulsed, the raw power of Lacey’s climax rippling through her immense frame. Her inner muscles clenched him like a slick, velvet fist, milking him relentlessly, drawing a ragged groan from his chest. He felt the tremor travel outwards, shaking her heavy breasts, making her soft belly jiggle violently against his taut abdomen, the sheer force of her pleasure a tangible thing in the humid air.
“Fuck, Pete!” she gasped, her voice shattered, eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on his shoulders was bruising, nails digging in anew. “Oh, fuck, fuck! Right there… don’t move… just… oh God.” She shuddered again, a final, powerful aftershock that squeezed him almost painfully tight. Sweat plastered damp blonde strands to her flushed temples. Her breath came in ragged, whistling pulls.
Slowly, the intense clenching subsided, leaving behind a deep, pulsating throb around him. Lacey slumped back bonelessly against the sweat-dampened sheets, her vast body a landscape of spent ecstasy. Her green eyes, heavy-lidded and glazed, fluttered open. A lazy, utterly sated smile spread across her face as she looked up at him, still buried deep inside her heat. Her hand drifted down, fingers tracing the defined muscle of his sweat-slicked bicep where it braced beside her head. "Bloody hell," she breathed, her voice a husky rasp. "You feel… incredible. Solid. Like a fucking rock holding all this…" She gestured vaguely at herself with her free hand, the movement making her belly wobble. "...mess together."
Peter remained motionless, savoring the incredible tightness, the enveloping warmth, the sheer overwhelming presence of her beneath him. The scent of their coupling – salt, musk, vanilla, and the faint, lingering ghost of the rich meal she’d devoured earlier – filled his senses. His own need was a coiled spring, held in check only by the mesmerizing sight of her post-climax languor. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her enormous chest, the sweat gleaming in the deep valley of her cleavage. Her stomach pressed insistently against him, a soft, warm barrier.
“Built for me,” he rumbled, echoing her earlier claim, his voice thick. It wasn’t just her body; it was this moment, this raw connection forged through indulgence and strength.
Lacey’s smile turned predatory, her eyes sharpening despite her exhaustion. Her hand slid from his bicep down his side, fingers tracing the defined ridge of his oblique before coming to rest possessively on his hip, right above where they were joined. Her thumb rubbed a slow circle on his damp skin. “Damn right,” she murmured. Her gaze locked onto his, a spark of renewed hunger igniting in the green depths. “But you’re not done, are you, muscle man?” The lazy teasing was gone, replaced by a low, insistent demand. “I felt you lettin’ me have mine. My turn now.”
She shifted her hips beneath him, a subtle yet deliberate undulation that made her belly press more firmly against him and sent fresh sparks of sensation along his length. Her inner muscles pulsed deliberately around him again, a slow, possessive squeeze. “Feels like you’ve got a lot left to give. Buried so deep in my fat pussy.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Show me. Fuck me properly. Make it count.”
Her words, the demanding roll of her hips, the possessive clench – they shattered his control. The coiled tension snapped. A growl, low and primal, tore from Peter’s throat. He pulled back slowly, deliberately, feeling every inch of her slick heat clinging to him, the resistance exquisite. He watched her face, saw her eyes darken, her lips part on a soft intake of breath. Then he surged forward, driving back in with a powerful thrust that punched the air from her lungs in a loud “Oof!” The bedframe slammed against the wall with a bang.
“Yes!” Lacey gasped, her head snapping back, eyes wide with exhilaration. “Again! Harder, Pete!”
He obliged. Gone was the measured pace. He found a brutal, driving rhythm, pulling almost completely out before slamming back home with piston-like force. Each powerful stroke made her immense body jolt. Her heavy breasts swayed violently. Her belly rippled in waves, slapping against his lower abdomen with wet, resonant smacks that echoed the sharp slap of flesh on flesh where their bodies met. Sweat flew from his brow, landing on her flushed skin. The room filled with the symphony of their joining: her ragged cries, his guttural grunts, the rhythmic creak of the protesting bed, the wet percussion of flesh.
“Look at it!” Lacey demanded, her voice strained but commanding. She grabbed his hand from her hip and pressed it flat against the vast, trembling curve of her belly. “Feel it! Feel you fucking me! Shaking all my fat!” Her fingers dug into the back of his hand, forcing him to feel the deep vibrations radiating from her core, the powerful displacement of flesh with every deep penetration. Her skin was hot velvet beneath his palm, yielding yet substantial. “Make it bounce! Make me feel it everywhere!”
Her command, the visceral sensation under his hand, fueled him. He fucked her with raw, unrestrained intensity, pouring every ounce of his strength into each deep plunge. He watched, mesmerized, as his lean, muscled form pistoned against the immense, yielding softness of hers. He saw the deep dimple of her navel flex with each impact. He felt the immense cushion of her soft thighs clamped around his hips, her wide hips lifting to meet his downward drives. Her cries escalated, becoming wordless screams of pure sensation, punctuated only by gasps for air. Her nails raked down his back again, sharp lines of fire mixing with the deep, aching pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in his own groin.
The pressure built unbearably, a white-hot knot tightening deep within him. The sight of her – vast, magnificent, utterly surrendered to the force of his taking – pushed him to the edge. Her eyes met his, wild and demanding, seeing his imminent climax. “Do it!” she shrieked, her voice raw. “Fill me up! Stuff my fat cunt! Give me every drop!”