Baseball Annie

And now I felt like I had just given him permission to think of me as just one more curious snow bunny, like all the baseball annies with jungle fever that followed the Indians and the White Sox and the Phillies around in the 1960s.

I realized he hadn't called me Christina since we had come up here. Just baby, babygirl, princess... maybe an old habit, picked up from night after night after the ballgame with another fresh-faced polka dot from the suburbs. Easier than remembering Julie and Brenda and Janet and Suzanne and...

I didn't mind. It was kind of hot, actually.

I engulfed him in my mouth, stretching my lips around his slick knob and then down his shaft, or a couple inches of it, at least. Bobbing up and down, coating him with saliva, bathing him with my tongue. Thinking about all the other women who had been here before me.

I had been fantasizing about doing something like this a lot lately; but I had never been sure I could go through with it. Maybe it was the arrogance, the sense of entitlement, the casual self-assurance, of the man who had been in the right place at the right time. Who had made it the right place at the right time.

I had imagined that this would only happen when I had psyched myself up for it, convinced myself that I was the vixen, the seductress. Instead, it seemed to be happening when a man said, "You want to follow me up to my room?" Either knowing the answer was yes, or not caring if it was no.

And I had said yes.

I should feel ashamed, and diminished, and taken for granted. Used. And maybe tomorrow I would. But I suddenly found the idea of being a vessel for a man's pleasure, his curiosity, his lust -- intoxicating. Any man. Doing something I shouldn't do. Just so he could get off.

But he wasn't ready to get off. He let me worship his cock for a couple more minutes, then guided me up, and kissed me again. Somewhere in there, he had unsnapped my bra. It fell off my shoulders and I could feel my breasts pressing into his moist undershirt.

"Shower," he said, and I gently pulled myself off of him and watched him heave himself up off the sofa and leave the room.

I heard the shower running and took another sip of my cloying drink. What the hell. I stood up and shimmied my dress the rest of the way down my hips. Leaving it in a puddle on the floor, I proceeded to peel off my pantyhose, followed by my panties. I took the last remaining pins out of my messed-up hairdo and shook my locks, so they fell naturally to my shoulders. I found a mirror and looked at myself. Except for a couple of items of discreet jewelry, I was naked, in the hotel room of a big, sixty-year-old black man, a near stranger, who was in the other room preparing to come out and ravage me. I took off my earrings and set them on the dresser beside the whiskey bottle. Then I picked up my drink and took a bigger slug and walked over to the bed and turned down the bedspread, and settled myself on the crisp white sheets, to receive him.

A couple of minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Walter stepped out. Completely naked, and completely self-confident. He looked at me, on the bed, and smiled appreciatively. My breath caught a little. There was just so much of him. His upper arms were like Christmas hams. His chest, without a shirt to contain it, sported a pair of sagging boobs that put my own breasts to shame. His belly hung down over his hips and pelvis like a half-deflated innertube. Surprisingly, he had very little body hair and his flesh looked smooth and, actually, quite supple.

And then there was his manhood, thick and potent, only partially engorged and mostly hanging between his tree-stump thighs. Swaying from side to side as he stepped -- waddled, frankly -- to the foot of the bed.

He looked supremely confident. As if any woman in the world would be grateful to open her legs for him.

As I was.

"Don't you look delicious," he rumbled.

"Thank you," I said. I felt delicious. I had my arms spread out over the pillows, my torso twisted on to one hip, my top knee drawn up a bit to conceal the private parts that were his ultimate goal now. "So do you."

"Really?" he said with a smirk. But he didn't seem to think I was being condescending. There was that incredible self-assurance again.

And I wasn't being condescending. There was something about his massive frame, his glorious excess, and, yes, his dark chocolate skin, that made me want to devour and be devoured by him.

He got up on one knee on the end of the bed, and then both knees. I felt the mattress sink under his weight. I felt like I was going to slide down the incline toward him, like Captain Quint into the shark's mouth in "Jaws."

Then he knee-walked closer, closer to the center of the bed, and to my quivering center, and equilibrium was restored. He dropped down onto his hands, his arms extended on either side of me; but even at full extension, his enormous gut hung down and covered me. I rolled onto my back and parted my thighs, spread my legs for him, opening myself for him. He bent his elbows, still holding his weight, and lowered his face and kissed me again, thick and wet and urgent, and I kissed him back, just as urgently. I was lost under him now, enveloped by him.

The kiss went on and on, his tongue thick and insistent, searching out my own and wrestling it into submission, tasting me, painting my teeth with his saliva. I was able to move my arms up and down over the very soft, pliant skin on his sides, down around the curve of his belly, and back again. It almost felt as if this embrace itself was the point of this exercise, this position. I began to sense his patience, his enjoyment in just holding me, kissing me, as if he would be happy to do just that all night. I truly felt myself melting under him.

Finally, he pushed himself back up, up on his haunches, and reached down around his pendulous belly to take his cock in his hand.

"You ready babygirl?" he asked me.

"Uh huh," I nodded breathlessly.

He stroked himself, making his plum-sized glans wink at me through his gliding foreskin. He hadn't mentioned a condom, and I doubted he was going to get back up and get one now. And I didn't want him to. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. Or three hundred seventy-five of them.

I watched him looking down at me now, his eyes on the prize, the flower of my sex, the petals doubtlessly splayed lewdly and glistening with dew; framed by a neat little triangle of dark hair at the top, and two completely smooth outer labia on either side. I was glad I had shaved today; I truly wished I could tell him that I had shaved for him. At any rate, I expected to be ultra-sensitive to the new sensation of his tight, nappy pubic hairs grinding against me. Soon. I could hardly wait.

But instead of shoving himself into me, he leaned back down and kissed me again. Then he trailed his lips down over my chin, and my neck, and nuzzled at collarbone before moving lower.

Lying on my back, I felt as if my small breasts had almost disappeared, but Walter found one anyway, the pink palm of his right paw grasping me with this thumb on my rib cage and his fingers reaching up to my armpit, then gathering me up until he had enough to wrap his plush, warm lips around. I felt him sucking, suctioning my tit up into his mouth, and then felt his hard teeth closing around my tender nipple, and his tongue flicking at the tip. I gasped, or was it a whine? Whichever, it seemed to spur him to bite down harder, ever so slightly but just enough.

Harder, I thought to myself. Please. Mark me.

But he didn't.

With his mouth on my breast, he had shoved me so far up on the bed that my thighs were actually wrapped around his chest, spread wide open, my vulva no doubt splayed apart as well. I squirmed against him. I could feel myself leaving a slug trail on the dome of his stomach.

Then he was crawling back up until he was looming over me again. I tried to look down to see his swinging dick maneuvering into position between my open thighs, but my view was blocked by the great dark brown mass of his belly, resting on mine and spilling over both sides.

"Okay, now, babygirl," he murmured. This time, I knew, it wasn't a question. He lowered himself onto me.

His weight was on his elbows now but his flesh was nonetheless cascading down on top of me, engulfing me, from where my forehead rested on his neck, down the length of my slender and fragile body.

I could feel his hips thrusting and gyrating, seeking to line up his fat, semi-rigid cock with the entrance to my insides. I could feel it, prodding against the cheeks of my upturned bottom, pushing against my perineum, sliding up wetly over my folds but missing the mark.

Just when I was thinking that one of us needed to snake an arm down between us to guide him into me, I felt him find his target, his knob nudging my labia apart, settling at the vestibule of my vagina. I held my breath, and tried to hold still so he didn't slip out as he began to push forward.

But instead of entering me, what I felt was his fat glans getting thicker, flattening out as he gently but insistently tried to cram it into me. God, he wasn't going to fit? I heard myself utter a whimper of frustration.

"Sshhh," I heard him whisper. "It's okay, princess. Just relax. Breathe."

Relax? Okay, well, I guess I wasn't exactly relaxed. I closed my eyes and slowly released a long breath that I hadn't realized I had been holding.

And then I felt myself yield, felt him pushing into me, squeezing into me. With the knob and shaft of his thick, spongy cock.

I uttered a long, deep moan. Or groan. "Uunnggghhh." His cock was big, but it wasn't splitting me in two. It felt more like it was meeting me halfway, stretching me open and simultaneously responding to my vagina constricting it.

I was holding myself still, and I had a sudden realization that he was, too. He wasn't pushing forward with those massive thighs, clenching his immense buttocks as he thrust his pelvis against me. I had the strangest sensation that his cock was just expanding into me of its own accord, pouring into me like a living but semi-liquid thing, charting the path of least resistance, which was not to push outward against my tightly stretched walls but to just... flow... deeper.

It was an exotic, erotic sensation, but I realized it was mostly in my imagination, because a moment later, I could feel Walter's pelvis against mine, his bristly pubic hairs tickling my sensitive pudenda, his balls settling between my cheeks. He had been pushing into me, of course, but ever so gently.

And now I could feel one of his hands against the side of my face, his thumb brushing a lock of my hair off my brow. I met his dark brown eyes, just inches above my own.

"You okay, princess?" he asked, solicitously.

I nodded. "Uh huh." I was. I was more than okay.

His dark face slowly broke into a grin. "Gotcha," he whispered.

I just nodded harder in agreement.

He had. He had "got me." He had signaled his intent two hours ago and however aghast I had been at his audacity then, he had played his cards right and how he had me. Naked, beneath him, in his room, in his bed. With his massive penis all the way inside me, marinating in me, filling me up like I had never been filled before. Deeper, yes; thicker, yes; but mostly, differently. Filling me up with a living part of him that was adapting to me, just as much as it was molding me to him.

I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but he was too broad at the shoulders. But by reaching up I could throw my arms around his head; I could draw his jowl down to bury my temple in it. I could feel the multiple folds of skin on the back of his neck against my forearms.

And then, finally, finally, he began to move. He pulled back out, almost all the way; I gripped him with the walls of my vagina and imagined I could feel him retracting back into his foreskin inside me, while I clutched at his shaft so it couldn't leave. Then he was pushing back inside me. I grunted, involuntarily; not so much from the pressure or the weight, as from gratitude.

He fell into a rhythm, his hips and buttocks rising and falling as he began to squish in and out of me. Otherwise, he held himself still, except for the rhythmic jiggling of the fat rolls around his stomach and breasts. I wanted to respond in kind, to undulate sensuously underneath him, but I was pretty much pinned to the bed like a butterfly. I couldn't even move my legs up and down along his sides. They were pinned down, too.

So he began to supply the undulation for both of us, adding a grinding motion to the up-and-down, in-and-out routine. It was sublime.

I closed my eyes and had a sudden vision of him thirty or forty years ago, in his athletic prime, six-foot-three but a lean and muscular 220 pounds, skewering some other nameless young woman that he called "babygirl" and "princess" while she writhed under him. I pictured myself as the young woman. Would it have been even better than this? Would his cock have been even bigger, firmer and more rigid? Or was it the unique pleasures of his immense fleshy body, and his singular style, developed over the decades of still bedding women even though he was no longer a sculpted hunk, that was making sex with him so spectacularly memorable?

I don't know if it was the vivid imagery or some subtle change in his angle, but suddenly I was aware that I was building toward an orgasm. He kept up his steady, elliptical rhythm, although I was sure he knew what was happening to me.

"I..." I tried to gasp.

"Mmm hmmm," he murmured into my ear.

"I... I..." It was all I could get out. Not even an "Oh God."

"Yes, babygirl," he whispered. "Cum for me."

"I... I..."

And then it broke over me, exploding in waves from my solar plexus up through my chest and down my legs, and I felt myself convulsing, and sensed him, finally, blessedly holding himself still, no doubt enjoying the sensation of my body pulsing around him as I rode it out.

"Mmmm, yeah, baby," he growled into my ear. He was still on top of me, still holding himself up on his elbows. His hand cupped my face again, brushed my hair back again. This time I could tell my hair and my brow were damp with perspiration.

And then he was kissing me again, and I was kissing him back, again; and then he resumed his glorious thrusting. His cock, moving in and out of me, in ever-shifting angles and with ever-changing firmness, in and out, in counterpoint to his probing tongue.

He kissed me right through my next orgasm, several minutes later. This time I barely had the presence of mind to turn my head, lest I bite his tongue off as he made my body thrash and clench around him.

He extended his arms and looked down at me, still stirring my insides with his fat, pulsating penis. I struggled to catch my breath. I was drained, wrecked.

"Unnghhh," was all I could manage.

"Mmm hmm," he agreed.

"Ungh," I repeated. He thrust harder, and I responded again with another "ungh." And another, and another. He maintained the faster pace. For the first time, I could hear our bodies slapping together, both of us now wet down there where we were coming together and pulling apart and coming together again. Schlap, schlap, schlap. Ungh, ungh, ungh. Squeak, squeak, squeak, from the bedsprings. A symphony of sex, no doubt entertaining and arousing the people in the adjoining rooms. Building to a crescendo.

"Ohhhhh," he gasped. I sensed what it meant.

"Uh huh," I responded, the closest I could come to making intelligible words.

"Baby, I'm gettin' close."

"Uh huh." I could tell. Big drops of perspiration were forming on his huge forehead, splashing down on the pillow above my head.

"Oh God," he gasped, his breath becoming ragged. "Baby, I'm gonna cum..."

"Uh huh." It was the full extent of my vocabulary now. I wanted to say something sexy and provocative to trigger him, help push him over the edge; but I was speechless. He hadn't quite fucked my brains out; just short-circuited my verbal function.

"Baby..." his voice, powerful and confident until now, took on a hint of desperation. "I want to cum inside you."

At least it wasn't a request. Jesus, I thought, you think I'm some teenage tease? I'm a full-grown woman and hell yes, I want to feel you cumming inside me.

"Uh huh," was all I could come up with, though.

But that was enough. He thrust hard into me, two or three more times, and held still. I clutched my arms around his neck, pulled him back down, and heard him grunting against my ear, and felt the huge presence inside my body throb and pulse. I knew that somewhere up inside me, spurt after spurt of his thick potent semen was erupting from him, seeking out whatever tiny crevices weren't already filled with cock, coating us both.

I could feel his chest and arms heaving above and around me. I could feel his heart pounding. Oh, God, I thought; don't have a heart attack now. If he collapsed on me now, I would be buried alive. The maid would find us tomorrow, naked and expired. But what a way to go, the staff would joke. At least for him.

I would be a legend, that's for sure.

I opened my eyes -- again, I hadn't realized I had closed them -- and saw him smiling at me, dark eyes sparkling, his face again just an inch or two above my own.

"Gotcha," he chuckled, again.

Indeed he had. He had filled me, filled me up, gifted me with a part of him.

After a moment he extended his arms and lifted himself off of me. His cock, still magnificently thick but losing rigidity by the second, pulled out and left me empty, and I heard myself sigh.

He rolled onto his side, and pulled me onto my side facing him, and kissed me again. For long minutes, while both of us slowly returned to normal breathing.

"Damn, girl," he said, his voice full of satisfaction and approval.

"Uh huh." I wondered if I would ever be able to speak again.

He rolled onto his back and I cuddled under his massive arm, and felt his chest rising and falling as his hand moved gently up and down my naked flank.

Eventually, I pulled away from him. I had no idea how long we had been at it. Later I looked at a clock and figured it had been thirty minutes or more, but it could have been hours.

I got out of bed and stepped, gingerly, across the room to the settee where we had begun discarding our clothes. I could feel his eyes watching my naked derriere, I hoped with approval. I could feel his semen starting to leak down the inside of my thigh.

"Leaving already?" he asked.

I turned slightly and looked back over my shoulder at him, hoping to appear sly or sultry. "No, I've got a few minutes."

I found my panties and stepped back into them. I picked up my dress, but rather than putting it back on, I merely straightened it out and folded it in half and set it back down.

Then I picked up Walt's dress shirt. It was white, a cotton/rayon mix, not heavily starched. Nothing special, other than being gargantuan. I turned sideways and looked back at him, watching me from the bed, where he sprawled, naked and glistening with sweat and satiated. I gathered the shirt up to my face, just for a moment, but just long enough to inhale deeply. It smelled masculine. Too much cologne, and the residue of an evening's perspiration.

I put it on. The sleeves fell all the way down my arms, the cuffs extending past my fingers. The tails almost reached my knees. And then, in a moment of inspiration, I stepped back into my black leather pumps, and walked over to the dresser and retrieved my earrings, and put them back on, watching Walter watch me in the mirror. Then I swayed back across the room toward him, trying not to grin too widely at the delighted expression on his face.