Peaches
Ashely Hind
I think I formed my crush within thirty seconds of seeing her. I don’t think I have ever witnessed anyone prettier, though perhaps infatuation makes me biased. I’m sure plenty of people would disagree with me, but that is their loss. The first thing I saw was her big bottom. The material of her black skirt was stretched to near-breaking point as she bent to tidy some paperwork into a low drawer. There were no lines interrupting the smoothness of her curve; the fabric clung tight, hemming in the wide hips and plump thighs, squeezing in the flesh down to her knees where the netted stockings became visible, confining her large but firm calves, their definition aided by the high heels she wore. In my mind the vision came of her skirt splitting down the middle with the stress at its seam, the material shrinking away as her soft, white globes of bum flesh were exposed, the whole beautiful rump thrust tantalisingly out towards me. I have to admit, I felt a rush of excitement seep from my pussy to soak into my knickers. She straightened up, turned around, and saw me flushed and open-mouthed before her. And then she smiled and lit up my world, and I fell instantly in love.
Her name is Samantha but my pet name for her is Peaches. It isn’t something I say to her face of course; it’s just a name for my head, to add to my thoughts when I dream of lying next to her, snuggling into her warmth. That first night I dreamt of her all I pictured was her lovely face, that first smile she gave me. That image alone was enough to make me come. If you saw her you would know why. You don’t actually notice the extra weight around her neck unless she tucks her chin right in, and even then I love it. Some might say it defines her as fat but to me it just shows her opulent softness, the joy you would feel in putting your arms around her and holding her to you. Beneath her foundation her skin is white-pink and young. She has large blue eyes and always wears black mascara to accentuate her long lashes. She mostly wears her shoulder-length hair tied back, leaving an expanse of smooth forehead down to her neatly arched dark eyebrows; an oddity when her hair is naturally blonde. Stranger still, you never really notice this darkness unless her hair and fringe is down. This gives her an even younger look, like she is still the schoolchild of her Facebook photos, not the woman in her late twenties of today. Her mouth is small but with slightly plump, very kissable lips, the top one curled ever so slightly upwards, like a miniature ski jump. And when she smiles the sun comes out, and no-one but no-one could fail to lose their heart.
It’s not only the brightness in her eyes but the sheer width of the smile, not just in the mouth but in her soft pale cheeks. They form little morsels of smooth, firm flesh. And ‘firm’ is the key word here because it is what some doubters fail to see. Some women are fat, with saggy rolls flowing over bulging bellies, whereas others, like my Samantha, are simply carrying extra weight –sometimes a lot of extra weight, particularly around their hips – but there is no sag, no flabby flesh. There maybe a little belly paunch but that is always sexy, and there is no cellulite either. The flesh is dense, pulling the skin smooth and tight over it, so that it glistens like a plump juicy sausage in a pan. The fingers and toes may be podgy but the breasts and bum and limbs will still be shapely and firm. When they get older, the tautness may begin to go and gravity will take its toll, but while still young these beauties will just be the pale-skinned epitome of blissful comfort, delicious beings to immerse into and cuddle and love. The sight and feel of them naked is surely the most precious and alluring experience.
It is hard to describe her character without sounding sycophantic. She is bright, funny, bubbly, clever. Everything about her makes me realise how flawed my own character is. She is friendly and attentive, flirty, suggestive, and completely addictive. She seems so assured and can certainly set hearts and cocks pounding, although under her facade of confidence she is perhaps a little insecure, no doubt because of her weight and the stigma blinkered society places on all but the stick-thin. All the boys love her and want to bury their undeserving pricks into her from behind, to ride her scrumptious bum, to squash and slap against those cushion cheeks and spunk inside her with no intention of ever giving her the time of day afterwards. She is infinitely fuckable but I see way beyond that, despite the number of hours I dream about her body next to mine, our tongues and fingers inside each other, our wet pussies kissing. I see her as my angel and I idolise her because she is perfection; a beauty that great artists would paint and immortalise. I wish I could be more of a match for her but I am not; I am quite pretty and petite but my shyness is crippling and I have nothing of her charms, nothing to make her choose me over the countless others who must love her too.
I got a job at the department store straight from school and met her on my first day there. I was nervous and disorientated but she took me under her wing even though I was on handbags and she was the assistant manager on lingerie. She made it her business to support me, out of the kindness of her heart. I just stared and smiled at her and tried to control the flutters inside. I have been there for her a year now and I want her more each day. I am a natural introvert but I slowly managed to get closer to her, mainly due to her open nature and because when I shake off my inhibitions I can be quite funny. Every time we talk and laugh together it takes me hours to come back down. She is so exhilarating but I cannot find a way to tell her. I don’t have the confidence to lay my heart on the line, especially since I consider myself so much her inferior. I am a simple soul destined to be passed by. All I really want is to be hers and adore her forever and to let her know how beautiful she really is.
I have stored up every little detail I could on her and cherished them. Each scrap that tells of her private nature is more valuable to me than diamonds. I furtively watch her, heart pounding, while she sorts and manhandles the lingerie for display. I try to gauge which her favourite items are, which she would like to own, just so I could picture her in them. She always wore stockings and high heels, always under tight above-knee skirts that showed off the girth of her legs and the curve of her big sticky-out bottom. Her bum was so big it constantly fascinated me. Every time I saw it made my belly flip and set my pulse racing. If you looked from the back it was just a little wider than most, but from the side it had a pussy-wetting jut, coming out from her back almost like a Victorian bustle, then flattening slightly under the pressure of her skirt before curving in at the full, rounded tuck. Oh, to have it naked in your face - all warm and bare, all smothering softness, the crack so deep and pungent.
I am a secret pervert it seems, although I never fully knew it until I saw Samantha. It was her that made me crave the pillow cheeks of a plump girl’s bottom, their lovely soft belly under your own, their big silken thighs open around you. And it was her who made me realise the unutterable delight of a chunky-legged girl in stockings. To me, the most captivating sight would be that of a beautiful, pretty girl with a big round bum, naked from the waist down except for her fishnets and high heels. That’s how I always picture her, almost every night and even during the day sometimes if it is all too much for me. Before I dream up yet another scenario with the two of us together, kissing and cuddling and fucking, I always see her in my mind’s eye, her back to me, wearing her shiny black heels and whichever pair of stockings I secretly saw her holding that day, bent slightly forward, her sweet, podgy hands reaching behind and her nails painted either black or red, gently digging into the flesh of her gorgeous, massive, sexy bum, with its long, deep crack only very slightly parted to make me dream of what lies inside.
You can see why I usually keep all this to myself can’t you? I’m meant to be a normal, wouldn’t-say-boo-to-a-goose type of girl, but every night my head rages with such rude thoughts, of secretly spying on big girl’s bums and then making love to them. In mitigation, in case you think I’m just some chubby-chasing slut, let me tell you that I’ve yet to make love to any such woman and the ingredients required have to be precise for me to be turned on. Crucially, the girl has to be very pretty. If this is the case her bum can be as big as it wants and I will always lust after it. If the girl isn’t pretty, the bum does absolutely nothing for me. Similarly, a pretty girl without a nice big arse leaves me cold with disappointment, especially a big girl, one of those with a wide flat backside and no jut at all. Like I say, the prettier the girl, the rounder the rump can be and the combination is vital. This is actually very rare, which is why Samantha is so special, and that is why it almost tore my heart out to discover that she was dating an old school friend. I had never really believed she could fall for me as hard as I had for her but I lived in hope that the way she smiled at me actually meant something more than mere friendship. It was crushing to have confirmation that she did indeed go for guys after all, and therefore I couldn’t feature in her most secret thoughts, despite what my instincts told me. Ironically, I think my infatuation only deepened once I learned all this, just to prove what a pathetic specimen I really am!
I guess my stocking fetish truly kicked in at this point too. I think it was an attempt to shift my focus away from her and leave her be, but she nearly always managed to creep back into my fantasies at some point. I have become obsessed with hosiery, specifically when it is shown off to its absolute best: when it is worn by a young, thick-legged girl. Every dream I have involves stockings or tights. Every time I masturbate I take some to bed with me. Sometimes I can come just from the feel of the nylon on my inner thighs or lightly brushing over my puss. Other times I gently rub myself while smoothing them over my tits and belly. Sometimes I would put my hand inside one stocking to play with myself, or put a pair of tights on and rub my pussy through the sheer fabric. It embarrasses me to say that when I have come, I often push the dampened gusset into my mouth and begin rubbing myself again. Really, if you had ever met me you wouldn’t believe I’m capable of such perversions. I am just so Little Miss Average, so normal and straight-laced, I simply don’t know where it all comes from! I have to blame Samantha, since I never had the slightest interest in stockings until I saw her in them.
I bought my first vibrator with my second pay-packet, along with a harness to strap it on – the latter being an aid to add spice to my fantasies rather than something I ever dreamed I would get to use for real. I had to hide these items carefully and they only came out when I was sure my parents would not be back to disturb me. The toys only made me worse and took my naughtiness to a higher level. My orgasms became more intense with the vibrator and so my imagination had to step up the rudeness in order to keep pace. Wearing the harness brought out a side of me I didn’t know existed. It had a little vibrating pad inside that could bring me off as I wore it. I loved to oil it up and stroke it slowly like it was my own real cock, kneeling on my bed, watching myself in the mirrored door of my wardrobe.
I sometimes got two pillows side by side and folded them over in a terribly crude and frankly disrespectful representation of my darling Samantha’s bottom. I would hold the pillows in their folded state and push the strapped-on dildo between them and jerk my hips back and forth, dreaming that I was thrusting my angel from behind. I even used to leave the pillows by an open window first, to give them that cold softness I knew she would have.
I am embarrassed to admit that another time I struggled home with two watermelons and put them together to act as her imaginary bottom, shoving the dildo between them and pumping hard, just to try and create the sound my groin and thighs would make slapping against her backside. I felt almost schizophrenic doing this, like some mad woman was inside me, but I know the darker thoughts were just caused by frustration at not having her, and if it came to reality I would return to my mouse-like submission, loving her as tenderly as I could. Sometimes I wore a netted stocking over my head when I fucked the pillows, or stuffed one leg of a pair of tights in my mouth and the other one up my puss. One time I pushed a very sheer nylon stocking up my bottom and slowly withdrew it as I came, thinking of her naked arse, of course.
Out of the blue a chance materialized. There was a charity event running through the store and Samantha was trading kisses for a pound donation. For hours I watched her laughing away as the old timers and the teenage jack-the-lads popped in their coins and tried to hit her lips when all she was offering was a cheek. I kept running over my game-plan in my head but my legs were shaking and my belly turning somersaults and I remained rooted to the spot. Some of those chancers would put their arms around her – more contact with her than I had ever had. Every day I dreamt of melting into her comforting body. I would have given anything to be in her embrace and feel the gentle softness enveloping me, and these guys were putting their hands all over her for a quid! I only summoned up the courage after lunch. I waited for a quiet moment when she was alone, walked up to her, showed her the ten pound note in my hand and quickly stuffed it into the collection box. I couldn’t afford such extravagance but - what the hell! Not surprisingly she looked a little taken aback.
“You must think it’s a good cause!” she laughed shyly.
“What do I get for that?” I said, trying to muster an air of nonchalance. “I reckon I deserve a proper kiss for that amount,”
She smiled but looked a little confused and I could already feel my courage draining away and my words sounding crass and stupid. I hastily backtracked, talking over her before she had a chance to speak and turn me down.
“Only joking!” I laughed. “Yeah, it really is a good cause – I always give generously! If I don’t get any better offers I’ll be back for my kiss later!”
I was grinning but dying inside and my face was red with the stress and humiliation. She managed a nervous smile as I beat my hasty retreat. The thing was, despite my defeat I couldn’t let this opportunity go. It was my best chance ever of gaining some close contact. I had to drag myself back up during the afternoon but I was determined not to waste the opportunity. At the end of the day I watched her sign off her till and go into her little stock room behind the counter. Other staff were milling about so I waited before sneaking over to the door. I still didn’t know what to say but by rights she owed me ten kisses and I wanted them. I pushed the door open and to the astonishment of us both I caught her right in the act. She was facing me, her skirt up round her waist displaying her pale thick thighs. Her hands were at her hips, pulling up the string sides of a tiny thong. I could just about see a little black triangle of lacy material between her thighs. She was simply too stunned to pull her skirt back down.
“What are you doing in here?” she said, her voice high and strained. I’m not sure what reply I mumbled – something about wanting my kisses no doubt, but I was far too engrossed in staring at her crotch.
“It’s not what you think!” she said, sounding panicky now. “It’s just shrinkage!”
I managed to drag my eyes off her crotch and she was finally able to cover her modesty. ‘Shrinkage’, it transpired was basically another word for theft. When items were returned faulty they had to be sent to the supplier for a debit. However, most suppliers didn’t want them because they knew the items had often been worn for a night out and returned on spurious grounds. She was therefore at liberty to write them off and throw them away. However, since all they often needed was a good wash, it seemed such a waste.
“If I know there is a pair that will fit me,” she said, “I come to work with no knickers on and then put them on at the end of the day and take them home. I can’t put them in my bag because even though they are for the bin, it is still technically stealing.”
I wanted to tell her how many times I had pictured her in just such a pair of panties, so tiny and sexy and tight to her beautiful big body. Anything like this would just sound dirty, like I viewed her only as a sex object in the same way the boys did, when in fact I saw her as the most perfect person in the world. I wanted to tell her she was everything to me and that I could barely cope away from her company for a single minute, that I thought of her all day and wanted to be with her forever. All of this would sound ridiculous though, so in the end I just said,
“Do you think I should tell someone?”
She stared mute and horrified at me for several seconds.
“No, please don’t,” she finally managed to reply. “If you tell someone I will get sacked!”
“Do you not think, then,” I said, “that you should kiss me?”
She didn’t know what I meant so I told her. The best way to keep my mouth shut was to put her lips to it. I had paid for ten kisses and so it was only right. She was still dumbfounded but I was already bearing down on her and she knew she had no choice.
“Maybe a proper one will count for all,” I said with a smile.
Then I put my arms around her, leant in, and kissed her. She was too shocked to respond but it was still fabulous; the warmth, her comforting size as I cuddled and squeezed, the softness of her lips and her breasts against me. I kissed her as tenderly as I could, every now and then snaking the tip of my tongue over her closed lips, just delicately - hoping she would open up but not trying to force it. It was all I could do to restrain from pulling up her skirt and exposing those gorgeous legs in those netted stockings. I wanted to clutch her arse and grind my crotch into her leg but that would have been gratuitous when she deserved only gentleness. In my dreams, once we kissed she let me sink into her and we were together. In reality she didn’t try to fight me but her arms stayed at her side and didn’t gather me in. Her breaths were faltering though, and I could detect her pounding heart against my own. Just before I broke off I was sure I felt her lips open and her tongue brush mine. She opened her eyes and sucked in her bottom lip to dry the wetness from it. I think she was shaking.
“You are the most beautiful person in the world,” I said.
“You know I have a boyfriend,” she finally whispered. It wasn’t really what I wanted to hear. She was trying to give me the brush-off and it was sending my head spinning. After my declaration she was giving me nowhere to go and I felt cornered and lost, unable to see any way to regain the initiative. In a panic I said:
“Does he know you’ve been stealing knickers?”
“You aren’t going to tell anyone are you?”
“Not if you let me see them,” I said. “Bring them to my house to show me and I promise not to tell.”
I didn’t want it to sound like blackmail but I guess that’s all it was. She looked edgy and afraid, but she still nodded her assent. What else could she do? I told her to come the following night and not to be late. I wanted her to know that I would never hurt her really, so before I left I took her hand and kissed it and told her that I loved her.
She wasn’t late. She barely managed a half-smile on my doorstep and hadn’t lost any of her nerves from the previous night. I wanted to calm her but I was too excited about the contents of her bag, of digging into it and bringing out handfuls of knickers and suspender belts and tights. I actually wanted to pull down my own underwear and rub my itching cunt all over a big pile of her ill-gotten goods, but I didn’t tell her that. It was the first time I had ever seen her in jeans and a jumper. She looked sweet but not as ragingly sexy as she did in her work clothes.
“I want to see you in them,” I said.
She started to bite her lip and look anxious but I quickly reminded her of what I could do if she didn’t oblige me. I felt guilty as hell but I needed her too urgently to worry about morals. She would see it was for the best. I told her to take the bag up to my room and change, and to wait for me on the bed. I held off for ten minutes before deciding I could wait no more. I almost fainted when I saw her. She was on her side on the bed, her face partially hidden in her arm although I could still see the flush on her cheek. The rest of her body where it was uncovered was milky white and perfectly smooth. To my joy she had chosen a purple basque which pushed her ample tits up and threatened to spill them out. Her fishnet stockings were the same colour and were tight at the top, causing an indentation around the middle of her large thighs. It was such things, those little displays of how soft and abundant her flesh that made my pussy drip. I had to go close to the bed and stoop to see any sign of the tiny knickers hidden between her thighs and below her belly. I climbed onto the bed, homing in on her crotch to breathe her in. Her scent was wonderful; sweet and musky.
Suddenly I felt like I was the woman and she the teenager. She seemed so nervous and at my disposal I couldn’t believe I had wasted all this time in getting her here. I wanted to taste every inch of her and suck her soft flesh into my mouth. I was trying to kiss her thighs and strip off my clothes at the same time. I could hear her sporadic breaths and see her peeping out from her arm to gauge what was coming her way next. When I was naked I roughly pulled her arm to force her onto her back and I sank onto her, kissing her and pushing my tongue out to find hers. This time she did respond. Her arms came around me and I was enveloped in her warmth. She gave a huge sigh and I knew she was mine. I ground my bare crotch against her and she writhed beneath me, pulling me in and squashing me to her yielding body. I burrowed into her cleavage to find her nipples, pleased to see they were cute pink circles with little rigid teats, much smaller than I had envisaged. I drew them in hard and even nipped at them to make her squeal, and then rubbed my little tits into her face and made her return the favour.
I wanted to spend hours kissing and teasing her but was too impatient to get between her thighs, the true hub of her fatness. I tarried a little on her chubby belly and her deep button, but was soon down to lap the insides of her silken thighs and press my face to the lace of her knickers. I could make out the soft bulge of her mound and tell it was shaved bare. I think this might actually have been the most exciting part – it was certainly the most unexpected. I had not realised how delectable the mons would be on a plump girl; it was simply the most kissable pad of squashy flesh you could imagine. It was cup-able and spankable like a tiny buttock, the top of the slit a deep crevice between the fat outer lips. I began easing her knickers down but once I began to expose her peachy quim I forgot sensuality and ripped them off. She smelt full and heady. Her inner lips were actually thin and barely protruded at all; not at all the vulgar petals of my fantasies. She tasted much more subtle than her scent suggested and her slit was delicate, but still the plumpness of all the surrounding tissues made it impossible not to press your face right in and try to suffocate in her. She wriggled and sighed and panted as I pushed into her and plunged my tongue as far up her as I could. Her tits had already spilled from their lacy cups and I pinched and stretched at her nipples to make her wail. Then I was burrowing down, forcing her legs up off the bed and sucking harshly on mouthfuls of bum cheek, drawing in as much as I could and biting upon it.
My fingers strayed up her cunt and found a pond of warm silky juice inside her. She felt pliant, like you could stretch her infinitely, maybe bathe your whole hand in her cream. I couldn’t stop trying to eat her bum and now that I had wrestled her g-string totally off I was turning her, first nipping at her hips and then sinking my teeth into her lovely fat cheeks. I sucked away, covering her in love bites as I forced my fingers in and out of her wet quim. She sounded so young and vulnerable, not at all the bold girl she tried to portray herself as in public. I got her on her front and smacked her rump hard, wobbling her meat and pinking the surface. She wailed but still thrust her hips up, maybe for more or maybe to aid the movement of my fingers still inside her, to let the pleasure they brought counter the pain fizzling across her arse. I used my wanking fingers to haul her onto her knees and then there it was, my holy grail: her magnificent bent-over bum in all its glory.
I had to feast on it. I had to feel its sheer size and softness against my face, to force my way into that deliciously dank cleft. She rode my fingers as I did the dirty deed, her sighs tremulous, although she fought her trepidation and pushed her bottom back to open it against me and let me give her that most scintillating of thrills. She tasted sweeter than I dared imagine. I wanted to pull her right onto me and be suffocated by that beautiful fat bum. I wanted to draw my last breath of air from the deep valley of her arse as she crushed it into me. But more than anything I wanted to fuck her. I made her stay on all fours and masturbate while I tightened the harness around my waist. It wasn’t easy for her to do this rude act in front of me, especially as she was completely visible in the wardrobe door mirror and I could watch her flushed face as she rubbed herself. I let her see me in return; oiling the dildo and stroking it like my own cock. I held her hips firmly and slid the thick toy all the way into her, watching her beautiful face intently, seeing my own break into a smile of triumph as I filled her completely and my groin pressed against her cool flesh at long last.
I should have been gentler but the desire to slap hard against her bum proved instantly irresistible. I could see her arse moving below me and in reflection too, the shock waves juddering through it with each heavy thrust. For me it was an unparalleled thrill: to watch her face and bottom at the same time, both at their most wonderful. I could see her bliss in the way she clawed at the bed sheets. I could smell her love for me filling the room. The buzz at my own clit drove me on relentlessly, pushing her mercilessly towards her release. As her orgasm neared she did the most erotic thing I could possibly imagine: with her eyes still tightly closed she put her thumb into her mouth and sucked upon it like a baby. It wasn’t for effect; it was a totally spontaneous, instinctive measure to help cope with the surge of ecstasy about to burst through her – and I thought it was me that needed all the comfort!
She now waits on me every day at work and I think it is fair to say that she is besotted. She sneaks moments with me whenever she can, happy for any swift secret contact she can steal. And she steals for me too: I select the stockings or knickers that I want and make her take them for me. They could not possibly fit her so she has to conceal them up inside. She is not happy about it but I still make her do it and use it as part of our fun, kissing her and slowly pulling the illicit stocking or g-string from her pussy. Then I put the item on and wear it while we make love. She wants to be with me all the time, desperate for any chance to envelop me. The trouble is a new girl has started, older than Samantha but still pretty, with a haughty confidence and brilliant white smile against her smooth chocolate skin. And her bum is even bigger; an impossibly round apple jut that only black girls can have and still retain any shape and softness. My heart races and my pussy melts every time I catch a glimpse of her in those skin-tight skirts and brightly coloured stockings. She is the most captivating thing I have ever seen. But how could a wallflower like me possible even catch her eye, let alone win her heart? What chance has someone like me got of ever seeing that woman in just her fishnets, bent slightly forward with her red nails digging into those sumptuous cheeks to part them for me? It has to happen though; somehow I have to make it happen because I know I simply cannot live without that fat, beautiful arse.
****
