Chapter 2: Velvet and Vice: The Second Round
The VIP velvet swallowed sound, leaving only the bass thrumming through the soles of my shoes. Another long shift blurring into the usual post-midnight haze. Then, the air shifted. A ripple of presence. I looked up from wiping down the already gleaming bar top.
She filled the entrance to the booth alcove. Lora. A month hadn’t softened her confidence; it had amplified it, poured into the extra curves she carried now. Her black dress – the same one? It had to be, but stretched – clung desperately. The hem rode high on unbelievably thick thighs, the fabric digging into soft flesh. Her plush stomach, noticeably fuller, rounder, strained against the material, creating deep folds where it met the waistband. It pushed forward, demanding attention. Her hips seemed impossibly wider, a lush shelf beneath the cinched waist. The neckline plunged, revealing more of the magnificent swell of her chubby breasts resting heavily on that pillowy tummy. Her curls were wilder, framing a face flushed with heat or exertion, her glasses slightly askew.
She slid into the booth opposite me with a soft, satisfied sigh. The vinyl groaned under her weight, her huge arse spreading, thick thighs pressing firmly against the seat’s confines. She moved with a deliberate, sensual heaviness, owning every inch of space she occupied.
"Thought you might need this," she announced, her Spanish accent warm and bright, pushing a fresh El Diablo towards me. Her fingers brushed mine as she slid the glass. Lingered. A spark shot up my arm. "Properly spicy, just how you like it." Her dark eyes behind the glasses held mine, gleaming with amusement and something hotter. Knowing. She knew exactly the effect she had. Knew I’d been replaying that booth moment, the feel of her hip under my hand, for weeks.
I managed a nod, my throat suddenly tight. "Lora. Surviving the thesis grind?" My voice sounded rough. My gaze kept snagging – the way her belly pressed against the table edge, soft and yielding; the sheer abundance spilling over the seat; the dark fabric stretched taut over her flabby thighs.
"Surviving?" She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that vibrated in the small space. She patted her significantly pudgier stomach. The flesh wobbled enticingly beneath the tight dress. "Thriving, Liam. Stress eating is an art form. And I," she leaned forward conspiratorially, emphasizing the deep cleavage and the soft shelf of her upper arms, "am a dedicated artist." Her smirk was pure challenge. "Looks like I've added a few more masterpieces."
"Christ," I breathed, the word escaping before I could stop it. My knuckles whitened on the damp bar cloth. She was breathtaking. Voluptuous. A fucking force of nature. The sheer size of her now, the confident ownership of it… it short-circuited my usual dry wit. "You look… incredible." Understatement of the century.
Her smile widened, sharp and satisfied. "Good." She took a long sip of her own drink, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim. The ice clinked. The bass pulsed. The expensive perfume mixed with her own warm, sweet scent – sweat and sugar and Lora. It was intoxicating. "You know," she murmured, setting the glass down with deliberate slowness, "watching you work tonight…" She trailed off, letting the implication hang. Her gaze flickered down my lean frame, lingering for a heartbeat too long below my waist. Heat flooded my face.
Before I could formulate a coherent response – a joke, a deflection, anything – she moved. Fluidly, surprisingly fast for her size, she stood. The dress rode even higher, revealing more of those thick, pale thighs. She reached across the small table, her plump fingers closing firmly around my wrist. Her grip was strong, warm, undeniable.
"Dance with me?" she chirped, her voice bubbling with false innocence, her eyes anything but innocent. It wasn't a question. It was a command wrapped in velvet.
She was already pulling, her strength surprising. My stool scraped loudly on the floor. "Lora, the VIP section—"
"Is boring," she declared, already dragging me past the plush curtains, out into the main floor’s sonic assault. "And I want to move." Her grin was fierce. "With you."
The dance floor was a furnace. Bodies packed tight, slick with sweat, moving in a chaotic rhythm under the strobing lights. The bass hammered directly into my chest cavity. Lora plunged into the thick of it, pulling me behind her like a tugboat hauling a barge. Her wide hips carved a path, her huge arse swaying hypnotically with each determined step. Thick thighs brushed against others, demanding space. People instinctively shifted, making way for her sheer, confident presence.
She stopped near the epicenter, turning to face me. The heat radiating off her was immense. Her flushed face glistened. Her dark curls clung to her damp neck. The stretched dress clung even more desperately to every magnificent curve, highlighting the deep fold where her plush belly met her pubic mound, the incredible swell of her hips, the sheer mass of her arse and thighs.
"Here," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music but vibrating with intent. She didn't wait. She stepped close. Dangerously close. Her pillowy stomach pressed flush against my hips and lower abdomen. Soft. Warm. Unbelievably yielding. The sheer contact sent a jolt through me. Her chubby breasts crushed against my chest. I could feel their weight, their softness through the thin layers of our clothes. Her thick thighs bracketed one of mine. Her heat enveloped me.
She started to move. Not the frantic jumping of the crowd, but a slow, deliberate roll of her hips. A sensual undulation that originated deep in her wide, soft core. Her belly rubbed against me, a plush, insistent pressure. Her hips ground in slow circles, her huge arse shifting heavily behind her. Her thighs pressed firmly against my leg. She tilted her head back slightly, eyes closed for a second, lost in the sensation, in the feel of her own body moving against mine.
My hands found her hips automatically. Not tentative this time. Needing purchase. Needing to feel. The sheer abundance beneath my fingers… the softness over solid warmth… the way her flesh spilled over the waistband of her dress… I gripped. Hard. My fingers sank into the incredible softness of her love handles, the flab spilling from her hips. She gasped, her eyes flying open, dark and dilated behind her glasses. A shudder ran through her.
"Yeah," she moaned, the sound swallowed by the bass but clear in her body’s response. She pressed herself even harder against me. "Like that. Hold on." Her hands slid up my chest, over my shoulders, coming to rest behind my neck. Her fingers tangled in the hair at my nape. She pulled my head down slightly. Her breath was hot and sweet against my ear. "Fuck, your hands…" Her voice was thick, ragged. "Grip harder. Show me you can handle all this."
I obeyed. My fingers dug deeper into the soft flesh of her hips, pulling her impossibly closer. Feeling the incredible width, the sheer mass. My thumbs pressed into the soft swell just above her arse, finding the dimples there. She whimpered, arching her back, pushing her belly harder against me. Her movement became less rhythmic, more urgent. A desperate grinding. Her thick thigh rode higher against my leg. I could feel the heat radiating from her core.
"Christ, you're soft," I growled into her ear, my voice rough with want. My hands slid lower, tracing the incredible curve of her arse. Huge. Heavy. Flabby. My palms cupped the massive cheeks, squeezing. The flesh yielded gloriously, filling my hands completely. I kneaded, feeling the sheer weight, the heat trapped beneath the thin dress. It was riding up her back now, revealing the soft swell just above her waistband.
"All of it," she gasped, her nails digging slightly into my scalp. "Grab it. All of me. Don't be gentle." Her hips jerked against mine. "Feel how thick I am. How much there is."
My control frayed. One hand stayed anchored on her arse, gripping, kneading the incredible softness. The other slid around her front, fingers splaying low on her plush stomach. Beneath the stretched fabric, I could feel the warm, yielding flesh. Soft rolls. The deep dip of her navel. I pressed my palm flat against it, feeling it give, feeling the solidity beneath. My thumb found the soft overhang just above her waistband, the flabby shelf spilling over. I pinched the soft flesh there, gently at first, then harder.
She cried out, her body convulsing against me. Her head dropped onto my shoulder, her breath coming in hot, ragged pants against my neck. "Yes! Fuck, Liam…" Her grinding became frantic, desperate. Her huge body moved against mine, a tidal wave of soft heat and demanding pressure. The music, the crowd, the lights – it all dissolved into a blur of sensation: the incredible softness under my hands, the heat radiating from her, the scent of her sweat and perfume, the desperate sounds escaping her lips.
My own breathing was ragged. My hips moved instinctively against hers, meeting her frantic rhythm. The friction was maddening. My hands were everywhere – gripping the massive swell of her arse, sinking into the softness of her hips, pressing against her pillowy belly, feeling the flab yield and mould to my touch. She was everywhere. Softness and heat and demanding weight.
Suddenly, she pulled her head back. Her eyes were wild, dark pools of need behind her fogged glasses. Her lips were swollen. "Not here," she gasped, her voice raw. "Not enough." Her gaze darted towards the shadowed corridor leading to the staff exit. Backstage. Storage. Anywhere dark and private. "Now, Liam. I need your hands all over me. Every soft fucking inch." Her grip on my neck tightened, pulling me down until our foreheads touched. Her breath mingled with mine. "Show me you really want it. All of this." She pressed her belly hard against me. "Take me somewhere you can really grab hold."
Her words slammed into me, hot and demanding, cutting through the thumping bass and the haze of sweat and cheap perfume. Every nerve ending screamed yes, warring with the bartender’s ingrained caution. My hands were still molded to the incredible swell of her hips, fingers sunk deep into warm, yielding flesh beneath the straining black fabric. "Staff corridor," I rasped, the decision tearing itself from my throat. "Now. Before someone sees." It wasn’t private, but it was closer, darker, away from the writhing mass of bodies.
I didn’t wait for confirmation. Gripping her plush waist tighter, feeling the soft roll of fat beneath my thumb, I steered her through the pulsing crowd. She moved with surprising agility for her size, her thick thighs parting the sea of dancers, her huge arse swaying purposefully. People instinctively gave her space, eyes flicking towards the sheer, confident abundance of her. Neon lights strobed across her flushed face, glinted off her glasses, and highlighted the sweat beading on the soft expanse of her neck, the deep cleavage where her chubby breasts pressed together.
We reached the heavy fire door marked 'Staff Only'. I fumbled with the keycard clipped to my belt loop, my other hand still possessively spread across the soft shelf of her lower back, just above the waistband of her dress where flab spilled invitingly. The lock clicked. I shoved the door open, hauling her inside with me into the sudden, shocking quiet. The bass became a muffled thud behind the thick metal. Only the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights overhead and our ragged breathing filled the narrow, dingy corridor lined with stacked crates of lager and cleaning supplies.
Lora didn't hesitate. The second the door slammed shut, sealing us in stale air and the tang of bleach, she was on me. Her arms wound around my neck, pulling me down with surprising strength. Her mouth found mine, hot and insistent. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Her pillowy stomach pressed hard against my hips, a soft, insistent pressure. I groaned into her mouth, my hands immediately roaming, rediscovering the landscape they’d been denied for weeks. One slid down the incredible curve of her back, palming the vast, flabby expanse of her arse through the thin dress, kneading the heavy flesh. The other squeezed the thick softness spilling over her hip, my fingers sinking deep into the love handle.
"Fuck, you feel even bigger," I gasped against her lips, breaking the kiss for a ragged breath. My thumb traced the deep crease where the softness of her side met the swell of her belly. "Softer." The word came out rough, appreciative.
She arched into my touch, grinding her hips against mine. "Told you," she panted, her breath hot on my face. "Stress eating pays off." A wicked gleam lit her dark eyes behind the lenses. "All this," she grabbed my wandering hand and pressed it flat against the plush mound of her stomach, forcing my fingers to splay over the warm, yielding flesh pushing against her dress. "Every extra pound. You like it, don't you?" Her voice was husky, demanding. "Touching it? Squeezing it?"
"Yeah," I growled, the admission tearing free. "Christ, yeah." My fingers flexed, sinking into the incredible softness. I could feel the faint ridges of her navel beneath the fabric, the solidity beneath the plush layers. "Want more. Need to feel all of it." My other hand abandoned her arse for a moment, sliding around her wide waist to grip the pronounced curve of her other hip, my fingers seeking the softness spilling over the waistband there too. I pulled her impossibly closer, grinding my aching hardness against the soft wall of her belly. "Your place. Now. Where I can really get my hands on you. Properly."
Her eyes widened, then darkened with raw hunger. "Yes," she hissed, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt. "Cab. Now." She broke away, grabbing my hand again, her grip tight and urgent. She pulled me towards the corridor’s exit that opened onto the alley behind the club. The cool night air hit us like a slap after the club’s heat and the stale corridor.
Outside, the city throbbed with a different energy – distant sirens, the rumble of a late-night bus, the damp smell of pavement. Lora hailed a cab with a sharp whistle and an imperious wave, her body a magnificent silhouette under the orange streetlight. The black dress stretched obscenely tight across her pillowy stomach and wide hips as she leaned forward, her huge arse straining the fabric. I stared, transfixed by the sheer volume, the way her thick thighs rubbed together as she shifted her weight.
The cab pulled over. We tumbled into the back seat. Before the driver could even ask for an address, Lora rattled off a street name near the university, breathless. Then she practically launched herself across the worn vinyl seat towards me. Her lips crashed against mine again, hungry and demanding. Her hands were everywhere – tangling in my hair, sliding down my chest, one finding its way back to clamp possessively over my hand still resting low on her hip. She guided my fingers lower, pressing them firmly into the soft, flabby curve just above her pubic bone, where her belly met her thigh. A low moan vibrated against my lips.
The cabbie cleared his throat loudly, eyes firmly fixed ahead in the rearview mirror. We ignored him. My world narrowed to the wet heat of her mouth, the intoxicating scent of her skin and sweat, and the incredible, overwhelming softness under my hands. I squeezed the thick flesh of her hip, my thumb digging into the yielding love handle, while the fingers she guided traced the deep, soft crease at the top of her thigh. Her breathing hitched, her body pressing harder against mine, her plush stomach flattening against my side. The car jolted over potholes, bouncing her soft weight against me, each movement sending fresh waves of heat through my veins.
The journey was a blur of tangled limbs and furtive, desperate touches in the semi-darkness. Neon signs strobed across her flushed face, illuminated the sweat-dampened curls clinging to her temples, glinted off her glasses askew on her nose. I couldn’t stop touching the softness spilling over her waistband, the sheer mass of her thigh under my palm. She murmured Spanish words against my neck between kisses, her teeth grazing my earlobe. "Almost there," she breathed, her voice thick. "Casi, casi."
The cab finally jerked to a stop. Lora fumbled in her small bag, throwing notes at the driver with a mumbled "Keep it." She practically shoved me out of the cab, then hauled herself after me, a magnificent, heavy presence on the dimly lit street. We were outside a slightly shabby Georgian townhouse conversion typical of student digs. She didn't pause. Keys jingled in her trembling hand as she pulled me towards the worn, black-painted front door.
Her fingers fumbled with the lock. Impatient, I pressed against her from behind, my body moulding to her incredible curves. My hands slid around her wide waist, palms flattening possessively over the immense softness of her belly. I could feel the fabric stretched taut, the warm, pliant flesh beneath. My thumbs hooked into the waistband of her dress, digging into the soft flab spilling over it. She gasped, her head lolling back against my shoulder. "Dios..."
The lock finally clicked. She pushed the door open with her hip. Momentum carried us forwards, stumbling over the threshold into the dark hallway. Our mouths met again in a messy, frantic collision before the door had even slammed shut behind us. I kicked it closed with my heel, the sound echoing in the sudden stillness. The only light came from a streetlamp filtering through the frosted glass panel beside the door, casting long, distorted shadows.
We were inside. Making out like teenagers against her hallway wall, her soft, heavy body pinned deliciously between the plaster and my own. My hands were already pushing beneath the hem of her tight dress, finally finding bare skin. The warm, unbelievable softness of her hips, her flabby belly, the thick curve of her love handles – flesh yielding gloriously under my eager fingers. Her moan vibrated against my lips as I squeezed hard, pulling her even tighter against me.
Her moan vibrated against my lips as I squeezed hard, pulling her even tighter against me. My fingers sank deeper into the warm, yielding flesh spilling over her waistband, finding the soft shelf of her lower belly beneath the stretched black fabric. The sheer abundance, the heat radiating from her, was overwhelming. "Christ, Lora," I gasped, breaking the kiss, my forehead pressed against hers. "You feel... fucking immense."
"Good," she breathed, her voice thick and ragged. Her hands scrabbled at my shirt buttons, clumsy with urgency. "Need this off. Need your skin." Her glasses were fogged, her dark eyes burning behind them. "Need you to see what you're grabbing." She pushed the shirt roughly off my shoulders, her plump fingers tracing the lean lines of my chest, down my stomach. Her touch was electric, demanding. "Bedroom," she commanded, pulling me deeper into the narrow hallway, her wide hips brushing against stacked boxes of books. "Downstairs. Now."
We stumbled past a cluttered kitchen doorway, the faint smell of spices lingering. The hallway felt impossibly narrow with her presence filling it. My hands never left her body – one gripping the vast curve of her hip, fingers digging into the softness above her arse, the other roaming the incredible swell of her belly beneath her dress. The fabric was taut, straining. I could feel every soft roll, every dip, the solid warmth beneath the plush layers. Her thick thigh pressed against mine with every step, her breathing heavy beside me.
She stopped before a door at the end of the hall, fumbling with the knob. "Here," she panted, pushing it open. The room beyond was dark, smelling faintly of lavender and warm skin. Moonlight filtered through a small window, illuminating a double bed piled high with pillows and rumpled blankets. Before I could step inside, she turned, pressing her back against the doorframe. Her chest heaved. "Look at me," she demanded, her voice low and husky. Her hands went to the hem of her dress. "Look at what you wanted."
Slowly, deliberately, she began to pull the tight black fabric upwards. It resisted, clinging to the incredible swell of her hips, catching on the soft shelf of her belly. Inch by agonizing inch, it revealed pale, soft skin. First, the thick expanse of her thighs, dimpled and heavy. Then, the incredible curve of her hips, wide and soft, flesh spilling slightly where the dress still clung. Higher, revealing the deep, soft crease where her belly met her thigh. Higher still, the magnificent, pillowy mound of her stomach came into view, pale and round, pushing forward, softly jiggling free as she lifted the fabric over its apex. Her navel was a deep, inviting dip. The dress caught momentarily under the heavy swell of her chubby breasts resting on her belly, then she tugged it free, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. She stood before me in only dark lace knickers and her glasses, breathing hard, magnificent in the moonlight.
The air left my lungs. The sheer scale of her, unveiled. The moonlight softened her curves but couldn't diminish their power. Her belly was a plush, heavy dome, pale, bloated from drinking but soft with fat, spilling slightly over the lace waistband of her knickers. Her hips flared dramatically, soft flesh cascading from her waist. Her thighs were thick pillars, rubbing together, dimpled and powerful. Her breasts were full, resting heavily on the soft shelf of her upper belly, dark nipples pebbled in the cool air. She was softer, fuller, than even my hands had told me. A month of stress eating had sculpted her into something breathtakingly lush. "Fuck," I breathed, the word barely audible. My hands hovered, aching to touch.
"See?" she whispered, a tremor in her voice beneath the confidence. She grabbed my wrists, pulling my hands roughly onto her bare skin. "All yours." My palms flattened against the incredible softness of her belly. Warm. Yielding. Solid beneath the plush layers. My fingers instinctively sank into the flesh, feeling it mould around them. I traced the deep curve of her hip, my thumb finding the soft dimple there. My other hand slid lower, cupping the immense swell of her arse cheek, bare now except for the thin lace. The flesh was heavy, flabby, gloriously soft and warm. I squeezed, hard, feeling it fill my hand completely, spill between my fingers.
A shuddering gasp escaped her. "Yes," she hissed, arching her back, pushing her belly harder against my hands. "Harder. Grab it." Her hands flew to my belt buckle, fumbling urgently. "Need you inside me. Now." Her fingers trembled as she worked the clasp. "Feel how soft I am around you." She pushed my trousers and boxers down roughly. The cool air hit my skin, but her heat was overwhelming. She pressed her pillowy stomach against my hips, the soft flesh yielding against my hardness. "Bed," she gasped, stepping back slightly, pulling me towards the rumpled sheets. "Don't stop touching me."
We fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and soft, heavy warmth. The mattress groaned under her weight. She pulled me on top of her, her thick thighs parting to cradle my hips. Her belly pressed against mine, soft and insistent. My hands were everywhere – kneading the vast softness of her hips, gripping the heavy flesh of her arse, palming the warm, yielding expanse of her belly. Her skin was like velvet over deep, plush padding. She guided my cock with a firm hand, her eyes locked on mine. "Now," she commanded, her voice raw. "Fill me."
I pushed inside her. She was hot, wet, incredibly tight despite her size. A guttural groan tore from her throat as she took me, her body arching. Her hands clamped onto my shoulders, nails digging in. "Fuck!" she cried out, her head thrashing back on the pillow. "Yes! Deeper!" Her thick thighs squeezed my hips, her belly pressed flush against mine. The sensation was overwhelming – the tight heat, the incredible softness enveloping me, the sheer weight of her beneath me. I began to move, slow at first, then faster, driven by the feel of her, the sounds she made.
Her hands slid down my back, grabbing handfuls of my arse, pulling me deeper with each thrust. "Harder!" she gasped, her breath hot against my ear. "Use me! Feel it!" Her hips bucked up to meet mine, her belly jiggling with the force. "Grab me!" she demanded, her voice breaking. "Squeeze me!"
I obeyed. My hands found her hips again, sinking deep into the soft flesh, fingers digging into the flab spilling over her sides. I squeezed hard, pulling her against me with each thrust, feeling the incredible softness yield and mould to my grip. My other hand slid down, palming the immense swell of her arse, kneading the heavy, flabby cheek. She cried out, her body convulsing. "Yes! There! Squeeze my fat arse!" Her own hands flew to her belly, grabbing handfuls of the soft flesh, pulling it up, offering it. "Feel how soft! Feel how much!"
The sight, the feel, the raw need in her voice shattered me. My thrusts became frantic, desperate. The bed rocked violently. Her cries grew louder, more ragged, lost in the haze of sensation. Her huge body moved beneath me, soft flesh rippling, her belly pressing against mine with each impact. My fingers dug deeper into the softness of her hips, anchoring myself in her abundance. The heat built, unbearable, consuming.
"Lora..." I groaned, my voice thick, my control fraying completely. Her eyes snapped open, dark and wild behind her fogged glasses. She saw it, felt it.
"Inside," she gasped, her hips jerking wildly. "Give it to me. All of it. Fill me up." Her hands clawed at my back. "Now!"
The command, the sheer visceral demand, tipped me over. I drove into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt, my fingers sinking impossibly deep into the soft flesh of her hips as release tore through me, white-hot and blinding. A guttural cry ripped from my throat, echoed by her own sharp gasp as her body clenched around me, shuddering violently. Her belly pressed hard against mine, soft and warm and yielding. Her thighs clamped tight around my hips. For a long moment, there was only the frantic pounding of our hearts, the ragged gasps for air, the overwhelming scent of sex and sweat and her skin.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. I collapsed onto her, my face buried in the soft warmth of her neck, my body heavy and spent. Her pillowy stomach cushioned me, rising and falling rapidly beneath my chest. Her arms came around me, holding me close, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my sweat-slicked back. The silence stretched, thick and intimate, broken only by our slowing breaths. The moonlight painted silver streaks across her soft, flushed skin. Her glasses were askew, her dark curls plastered to her temples. She shifted slightly beneath me, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her hand slid down, resting possessively on the swell of my hip where it met hers. "Stay," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. Her fingers flexed gently against my skin. "Just... stay right here."