BBW Friend Who Needed It Badly

The one thing about dating younger women, it opens the world to more women. They all have friends and work colleagues and family members they want you to meet. The women I see are in their 30s and 40s and, to be quite honest, are desperate to get married (sometimes second or third time around) or at least to have the security of a well-off, decently in shape (older) man.

Anyhow, I was seeing a woman need Martina. She was Russian (Kazakhstan) but spoke English like a native. She was ethnically Russian Jewish but could pass as Scandinavian - blonde hair, green eyes, slightly curvy (great breasts, ample ass). She was divorced and had two sons. They were already late into high school and we had very little interaction. She sensed we were temporary and wanted to spare them any heartbreak at having a "father figure" leave as her Russian husband (Uzbek) had. I was okay with it as well.

Martina worked at a lab and they had an in-house lawyer named Zara. She was a Persian (Iranian) Jewess who fit the description of BBW. She was short (maybe not even five feet) and had curves for days - my absolute favorite. Curvy women make me wild with desire. And Zara had an almost comically large bosom that made my mouth water.

She was dark skinned and always wore heavy make-up, whether at work or for social gatherings. She was in her early 30s, perhaps 31 or 32. Her ass was a work of art. It followed the rest of her body like a loyal dog following her owner on a walk. I spied more than a few men admiring it at the many social events Zara attended, almost always at Martina's invitation.

Zara had never married and had no children. She always insisted she was looking for the right man but nothing stuck. Martina introduced her to every eligible bachelor, but most were not interested in "the fat girl." I know it hurt her feelings but she dove into her work and was hoping to start her own practice.

Zara was a visitor to Martina's apartment quite often, especially in bad weather. Martina (and I) lived very close to the lab, which was located in a suburban area of Connecticut. Zara lived in a suburb of New Haven, in her childhood home, with her parents.

I spent a lot of time speaking and flirting with Zara for multiple reasons, including the fact that I love women, love BBWs, love flirting, loved watching the occasional mischievous grin on her when I told a saucy story, and she was desperate for attention (especially male attention). But we did not socialize without Martina. It was the three of us or more, always.

So it was quite shocking when she showed up at my condo, uninvited and unannounced, on a random Wednesday night. She was crying as she knocked on my door and naturally, being empathetic, I let her in.

She was a mess. Her makeup was running. Her eyes were reddened. Her hair wild, untamed. She had on a loose fitting skirt and heels, with a sweater on top.

She told me that she did not want to go to Martina. Martina would not understand. She has me and she has everything, including a beautiful body. No one would ever love her. She realized it on her drive home from work. She would never kiss a man.

I did not think she was being literal. I thought she was being dramatic and maybe in the midst of a break-down. So I hugged her and said, don't worry, it will be all right; that sort of thing.

And then I said it.

"And you're beautiful and you have a very beautiful body."

We were still hugging when I said it and I thought, did I just say that out loud?

Now, I'm not against seduction and flirtation, but that was a bit much, even for me.

Anyhow, I started to push back a little, to look at her and apologize. She hugged me tighter, instead.

"Do you think that? Really? Don't lie. Do you think I'm beautiful? Do you really think I have a beautiful body?"

Once, in college, I was speaking to a girl I had just met at a party and realized she wanted me without having to put in any effort. So rather than try to impress her with my wit, I took her hand, brought her into my friend's room, and made out with her, finishing with a wonderful hand job.

I felt that same way right then. I continued to hug her with my left hand, and started stroking her long, thick black hair with my right.

"You know I do," I said. "You know it, or else you wouldn't be here right now."

She hugged me more and started rubbing my back, with her left hand gliding up and down as her right drew me closer.

"I didn't," she said, whispering, which instantly got me hard. "I wished it. I hoped for it. But I..."

And she buried her face in my chest, as if embarrassed by her own words.

I reached down and kept rubbing her back, bringing her closer to me. She whimpered as my cock pressed more and more against her belly.

"We shouldn't," she said. It was the first of perhaps 50 times she would say those words that night. "We shouldn't."

With that, I kissed her neck, gliding my mouth up and down, while steering my hand down to her skirt. I lifted it, exposing her beautiful ass. She protested, and then I kissed her, full on the mouth, and she started to cry. It was a good cry. A cry I knew was one of relief or happiness.

I got behind her and started to gently push her towards the bedroom. She stopped.

"I can't have sex with you. It would be a betrayal of Martina. I love her too much," she protested.

"I'm not going to fuck you," I said, pulling her sweater over her head, exposing her enormous breasts in a bra that defied all laws of physics. "I'm just going to make you cum like the hot bitch I know you are."

I put my left hand on her ass, my right under the skirt to her pussy, and my tongue in the gap between her breasts. She moaned and put both hands on my head, pushing me into her.

"We shouldn't," she said.

"You're right, I said. "Now, take off this skirt."

She obeyed. Her panties were huge and frilly white. She looked humiliated at her size, despite my obvious (clothed) erection and attention to her body.

"Listen to me, you hot bitch," I said, shocking her. "You deserve to cum. You deserve my cock. You deserve this."

I would say that I rubbed her ass and cunt and tongued her cleavage for a good five minutes. I was still completely clothed. She was still in her heels. She would throw back her head and then bring it forward, and then, in an explosion that would put Mt. St. Helens to shame, you rocked back and forth, yelling my name, saying she loved me; saying she can't believe I was fucking her this way (I wasn't, but she was caught up in the moment).

When she was done, she kept hugging me but asked if we could sit on the couch. We never made it to a bed. We did this all standing up.

She kissed me and then my neck and curled up in a ball and snuggled me. She was ashamed but filled with pride and lust (she would later tell me). I stroked her hair and her back, my cock straining my pants as I looked at her smooth legs, crossed, still in heels.

"I love you," she said. "I'm sorry, but I do."

I smiled.

"I know," I said. The power dynamic is very important to me. And I loved that I had this control over her. "Now, I have a need, and it's your turn to take care of it. We're not having sex, so it's not cheating. So, get on your knees, like the hot bitch you are."

She did so, without a complaint. She tried to make herself smaller, hiding her curves, but it did not work. Anyhow, all I needed now was her eyes (to look at me) and her tits (to be fucked).

She undid my pants and carefully took out my cock. She looked at it with just a little awe. Then, with no prompting, she began to lick it and kiss it, asking if I liked that. Was she doing it right.

I told her she was, but I would need to fuck her tits now.

"Take off your bra. I need to fuck your tits."

I think she assumed she would try oral sex or a hand job. But I had cum many times thinking of those breasts. Now, they were mine.

She took off her bra, slowly and embarrassed, but without complaint. When those girls were freed, I almost came. But I needed them so I waited.

"Come over here now," I said. "Put my cock between them, and squeeze, you hot bitch. Then go up and down. That's right. Like that. Keep going."

This went on for a few minutes. Then I said:

"Look at me. You want me to enjoy this, right? So, look me in the eye. Tell me when you first wanted me."

She was somewhat wanton at this point. She said, "When we first met. I went home and masturbated to you."

Ladies and gentlemen, we had a winner. I shot a load right into her neck.

"You love me too," she said. "You fucked my tits and you love me."

She went to clean up and I sat there, pulling my pants back up and staring at the ceiling. She came back into the room and put on her bra (it took an effort). She then snuggled up to me and said,

"I love you. I'll do whatever you tell me. Don't tell Martina. I love her too much. Just let me keep doing this."

And that is exactly what would happen for some time.