Please

This isn't a political story. Nothing political happened on the night the story took place. Politics are not mentioned at any point in the story, but the story changed the way I vote. What happened that night changed me. Since I was old enough to vote, I've gone into the booth and ticked the same box my parents did. Since that night, I've gone into the booth and ticked the opposite box. Nobody threatened me, nobody coerced me, nobody even told me to. It just changed me, and in a world of dogmatic, pick a side and stick to it for life politics, it changed my side. It changed me.

I was 22, a little over six feet tall and while only about 160 pounds, I had the body fat of a cheetah from regular kick boxing training. I didn't even want to compete, I just wanted to look ripped and know I could beat people up if the occasion/opportunity presented itself. I could impress girls and intimidate guys, what's not to love?

My relationship with girls was a little odd, not gonna lie. On the one hand, I wasn't the guy you wanted dating your daughter. I'd lie, cheat and generally treat them badly, but if I saw a female in danger? You better believe I'd want to be the one to swoop in and save them. I guess it was an attitude of, "hey, nobody's treating her like shit...except for me!" A double edged sword of misogyny where I saw them as pathetic enough to need me constantly looking out for them, and worthless enough to not deserve respect or empathy. I'm not excusing it, that's just the way I was.

The club was dry as fuck that night, not worth the effort to pick the right pair of shoes and I didn't even hang about at kicking-out time to see if anything was happening later on. I walked right out, and round the corner saw the unmistakable silhouette of a drunk woman walking in heels. I was kinda jealous, I'd barely got a buzz on, she'd got her money's worth. Even from her silhouette I could tell she was a bit older than me; the mom jeans stretched taut as skinny fits by the fat of her thighs, belt tightened around her waist to create the illusion of an hour glass figure. It wasn't fooling anyone. As soon as that belt came off her gut would drop like a sack of jello. I felt bad for her, the way she teetered around on those black heeled boots like bambi on ice, she needed a cab.

"Hey, you ok?" I called out to her, but she barely looked over her shoulder as she gestured for me to go away. If I'd just done as I was told everything would be different, but it was the middle of town at that time of night, and I wanted to see her in a taxi before I went away.

"Hey, slow down honey. You're gonna fall!" She stopped in her tracks and turned to face me.

"Who the fuck are you calling honey?" It made me smile. In the shadows she couldn't see she was talking to a good looking man a little younger than herself. She'd no doubt be more gracious for my attention if she could see my jawline and the way my beard faded into the side of my hair.

"You," I said, "You need to get in a cab before you break a heel, honey."

She mumbled under her breath in annoyance and I didn't break stride as I caught up to her and overtook her so that she'd have to walk alongside me, not the other way around, and she did. We found our way onto the side of a main road with more light available.

"Come on, let's put you in a taxi so I can get home," I smirked. There was something so much more hapless about drunk women compared to men. Their stupor seemed so much more brainless than mine.

Instead of doing as she was told she sat down on one of the benches bolted to the floor. I sighed and sat on the opposite end.

"Don't fuck with me, alright? I'll hurt you," she said with a slur in her voice. I could barely contain my laughter that this woman thought she could hurt me. I looked her up and down as she slouched on the bench, with more light I could see I was right about how she looked. Her jeans could've been a loose fit and they were about to burst from the stress of keeping her thighs inside. God, she must've felt like shit amongst all the other girls in the club, whose ages ranged from 21 (or less with a fake ID) to late twenties and rarely anything above. All those slim young women with flat stomachs and thigh gaps and there she was, crushing her stomach with her belt just to get in the door. Who finds big thighs attractive, really?

"How old are you?" I asked bluntly.

"44," she replied equally bluntly. "My name's Angela."

"Marty. What are you doing here?"

"My fucking..." she took a breath to compose herself and I prayed she wouldn't cry like they usually do. "I was supposed to go out with work, but my kid, my daughter, she needed picking up from some festival. So I went driving for two fucking hours to get her and then she just wanted dropping off at her fucking dad's, the prick. I lost my whole evening just to do that prick a favour so I just went out because fuck it, who cares?"

I wasn't really listening, just analysing her looks in the light of new information. Honestly, fair play to her, I would've guessed 40 at the most. Obviously big in the thighs and a little loose skin on her neck. Definite hint of love handles pooling around the bottom of her torso. Narrow shoulders in her shoulder style polka dot top helped her figure and she was probably wearing a pushup bra but I can't blame her. It was a strange one, she might've been really hot when she was younger. More importantly, I could hear groups of people who'd taken their time getting kicked out of the club yelling and laughing as they turned onto the shadowy streets we'd been on a few minutes ago. People around here knew me and I didn't want to be seen with a 44 year old woman so I hopped up and flagged a cab.

"That sucks, that stuff with your kid," I said as a taxi pulled over for us, "do you need any money?"

She slowly got up. "I don't need to take money off a kid."

"Hey, I'm not a kid, I'm 22."

She gave a wry laugh as she opened the door to the cab.

She grabbed my wrist. I told you she wouldn't resist once she got a better look at me. "C'mon, get in, I've got some drinks at home." I pulled my wrist away, very conscious of the approaching noise, the death of my reputation.

In her state, she elected to get into the cab head first and crawl on all fours to the seat on the other side, so for a moment her big, denim-stretching ass cheeks filled my view of the door to the taxi. The noise got closer, moments from rounding the corner and seeing me. I hadn't got any bang for my buck when it came to getting drunk. The full-fat, mature ass shuffling into the cab, the people coming round the corner, free drinks, death of reputation, ready-to-burst-denim, I jumped into the taxi, right into the seat she'd free'd up br crawling to the other side.

* * *

I was nervous. I'd never gone into a woman's house at night without the intention to have sex with her. Scratch that, I'd never gone into a woman's house at night. Girls? Sure, plenty, but as I watched Angela's ass test the strength of denim to new limits as she walked up the steps to her door, I couldn't refer to her as a mere "girl".

Once we were sat on her sofa I yearned for the cold uncomfortable bench in the middle of town. I missed feeling like I was the one judging her as her dark brown eyes scanned me from head to toe while she sipped her whisky and licked her lips. What was she looking at? What was she looking for? I didn't have any wrinkles or fat deposits for her to judge. Every human imperfection in this house was on her body so why did she get to look so relaxed and confident!? My jeans were tight because they're skinny jeans, they're meant to be, so why did she get to think about me? Sure hers were much bigger, but its all subcutaneous fat, she's not stronger than me. Her wandering eyes and silent confidence made me feel like the drunk one, and she suddenly seemed oh so sober. I hadn't touched my whisky yet and it seemed to have settled her down, as she sipped away half the glass, never without a slow lick of the lips afterwards. I could take my drink, the amount of coors I could get through in a night was legendary. I took a cautious sip of the whisky because I'd never had it before and my mouth burned, my eyes watered, what had she done to it? Had she poisoned me? It had come from the same bottle as hers...

She sensed my predicament and gave the sort of warm smile that makes one's eyes narrow and crow's feet appear. In the light of her living room I got my first real look at her face. She was a little more tanned than I'd realised, and her bob of brunette hair looked more natural than I'd presumed, not a root off colour, framing her love-heart shaped face

"Water?" she asked.

"What?" I murmured to cover my struggles not to cough from the whisky.

"People like having whisky with water they're not used to it."

I cleared my throat and confidently asserted, "I'm used to it."

She didn't buy my insistence, so I took another burning sip of the hard liquor she was effortlessly making her way through and thought hard about how to get back to the old dynamic. I'm the calm collected one who makes beautiful girls nervous, it made no sense that an imperfect woman with a child could make me feel anxiety just by looking at me. 10/10 20 year olds didn't make me feel this way, sparring competitive kick boxers didn't put fear in my heart. Something was wrong.

She got up and my heart skipped a beat as I thought she was walking towards me but she went to the sound system I was sat next to and searched for a song. From my seated position I gazed straight ahead at the profile of her figure that was now stood inches in front of me. The depth of her thighs from quad to hamstring, the shelf of ass that sloped out from her lower back, the width of her hips bending my depth perception.

My hands quivered and my mouth went dry. It's just fat, it's age, it's spare weight, it's not hot, it's -

She started a slow instrumental song on a sound system that played throughout the house and turned 90 degrees. My vision was now filled with the zip fly on her jeans. Her round, thick hips inches from my face suddenly made me feel something alien: vulnerability.

"What are you waiting for?" she said, in a voice somehow much more controlled and smooth for an extra glass of whisky.

Controlling the quiver in my hands I smirked and rolled my eyes to look away from her.

"Don't take up poker," she said, "I can see your erection about to rip your little jeans up."

To have such familiar sensations for something so unfamiliar is an unnerving feeling. I seduced girls, not the other way around. I prided myself on making a girl feel wet, the other way around felt wrong I...

I shook my head and took a breath. So what? I'm drunk and my standards are obviously lowered. I was going to get free booze and sex. What was I overthinking it for? Give her the dick she clearly wants, fuck her, hope she's not into cuddling, leave her a fake number and get out of there. What's not to love?

She took me by the hand.

As I followed her up the stairs I was once again staring at the wide, thick pair of butt cheeks begging to be released. Her hamstring cut a deep crease that looked like a smile into the bottom of her ass on the back step of her stride up the stairs. I kept the hand she had a hold of steady but my other one shook. I looked away and saw a couple of medals and an old framed photo of a young gymnast. So this was what I was looking at, the hard athletic body of a gymnast filled out and softened with age.

As we took our clothes off, I got a flutter of nerves that made losing my virginity look relaxing. Her top came off and the pushup C cup bra I had presumed was there simply didn't exist. The belt came off and the gut I waited to drop out wasn't there. Her faithful jeans revealed the enormity of the task they had been carrying out so reliably as she peeled them off, the hips they were holding in spilling over the brim of the jeans as they were dragged down. The impossible struggle of pulling the waist of the jeans over her ass, before they suddenly popped over the sizeable obstacle and the sound of her ass cheeks clapping the top of her hamstrings upon release echoed in my ears. Just a 44 year old woman named Angela, wearing nothing but a black thong, with tanned skin, brown nipples, a soft layer over her flat tummy, round hips and a pair of long brown legs, impossibly thick from every angle, right down to her calf muscles. And at the top of it all, a calm, heart-shaped face with the slightest smirk of a woman seeing a familiar sight: A deeply horny, but inwardly intimidated man. My slim, diamond cut physique suddenly felt incomparable and as she stepped towards me I almost put my hands up in defence. She was only about three inches shorter than me and gently took me in her arms before rolling us onto the bed.

We were immediately on our sides, my left arm under her torso, my head laying against her right arm and her thighs wrapped around my torso. As her thighs enveloped my body, knees bent so her heels were touching my butt, they swelled around either side of me and I felt like she was swallowing up my entire rib cage. The layer of subcutaneous fat on her thighs proved to be a thin one as a wall of firmness gripped me from either side and briefly winded me. She snaked her left hand behind my back as her thighs gripped me. Her breasts filled my vision and I looked down to see her body sink into her waist then splay out into her almost spherical hips. I could see my well-honed, pale physique disappearing into the tight V between her tanned thighs. Having locked me in place, she began thrusting her hips up and down and tightening her thighs, moaning as she did so, while my skinny legs bounced around on the other side of her thigh scissor and the thrust of her hips turned me in a human dildo.

I could have said, "Can you let off with your legs, Angela?" right at the start and she would have. I could have just said, "this is uncomfortable Angela, please let go" the moment I felt her thighs spread across each side of my body and bend my ribs inwards and she would have. But saying that would have been akin to saying "Angela, I want you to let go because you're hurting me and I'm struggling to breath and if you don't stop I think I'm going to pass out, and you're far too strong for me to free myself, so I'll have to rely on your mercy, and that is admitting weakness. So please let me go, Angela. Please. All I can do is beg because I'm too weak to help myself."

Deep down, asking her stop would have been admitting this woman was in total physical control of me, so I stayed between her thighs as she pumped her hips up and tightened her thighs which gave her some orgasmic pleasure. I couldn't tell if it was the feeling of my toned body grinding against her pussy or the sheer pleasure of physically overpowering me but she moaned deeply. Her right hand grabbed the hair on my head and pushed my face into her voluptuous breasts. Her left hand pulled my torso deeper into her hold as her thrusts and tightens became more intense. I could have just told her I was uncomfortable immediately but instead my airways were blocked by her bosom and oxygen was being squeezed from my lungs. Her thigh grip loosened and for a moment I thought I was free but she alternated to slamming her thighs around my torso from either side, and squeezing a deep contraction. She did this over and over each slam and squeeze giving her gasps of pleasure while rendering me more and more helpless. The sweaty, strong thumping slap of her thighs coming down on me followed by the brutal squeeze as she moaned in delight. For all my V-lines, eight pack abs and 9% body fat, there was a primal strength in the muscles of her core, crotch, hips, ass, calves and thighs that instantly overpowered me beyond retaliation. I'd occasionally wrestled with high level grapplers in my martial arts training, and even when they easily beat me, it was through a learned technique that I knew with enough time and practise I could one day match or overcome. This was different. This was like being ravaged in the jaws of a different species that I would never be able to repel.

I could feel the oxygen leaving me. Bashed and squeezed and crushed out of me, her hand's tight grip on my head forcing my face into her chest. A droplet of her sweat landed on my forehead. Her nipple brushed my ear. The light was leaving my eyes as this mature body satisfied itself, pounding the life out of me as a byproduct. I turned my head to the side and sucked in just enough air to choke out "PLEASE!"

She immediately relented and and I rolled onto my back, her right thigh still under me and sucked in air as my body shook.

It was just one word, "please", and once I'd said it we both knew she'd done it: she had broken me in. I was her's.

She wrapped me up more gently this time, an effortless but effective display of dominance, and pressed her lips up to my ear, the smell of whisky on her breath. A shiver went down my spine as her lips touched my ear and at first I could only hear her breathing. I felt her tongue brush my ears as she licked her lips slowly and I nearly ejaculated there and then.

In a breathy, tingling whisper she said, "Do you want to make me feel good?"

"Y-yes," I stammered. I'd never wanted to make anyone feel good, but suddenly I felt obligated to her.

She didn't even have to say a word. She simply removed her thong and span around, face down, ass up on the edge of the bed. Her ass in the air, pussy exposed in the diamond at which her butt cheeks and thighs converged. The width of her hips and the fullness of her gluteus maximus seemed like more than ass but a totally indomitable force looming over me. She didn't rush me to regain my breath as she waited. I could have easily got up and left and she would have let me, but I didn't.

I'd never eaten pussy before. I kissed, fucked and left. In that moment, as I knelt down at the edge of the bed and pressed my face into the diamond when her pussy resided, I regretted that fact. With everything scary but thrilling about this situation, I cursed myself for never getting to know a pussy before. They'd never seemed worth it, though. They were for fucking not eating. Now I was looking square at a pussy that seemed to govern my world for now and I didn't know what to do. I saw a small amount of dark hair around the edges, the entry at the top in this inverted position, a bead of fluid trickling out. Her brown labia hanging to the side, shining and moist. I just knew that, as I saw my big, strong hands attempt to spread the diamond by grasping each side of her ass, I'd never seen them look so small. As my mouth got closer to the deep crevice between her cheeks, I quivered from an intense feeling of vulnerability as her glistening thighs and glutes filled my world, threatening to swallow me up and crush me with every twitch of the raw, feminine power, belied by the thin layer of fat that makes fools of males' gaze; an alluring illusion of a soft object of sexual desire that will take them in and devour them. As I placed my face face deep in the diamond, I thought about how stupid I'd always thought flies were for landing on Venus fly traps, and suddenly understood why they are VENUS fly traps, specifically. My trembling tongue passed between her labia and I wondered how many men had been in this position before, and if Angela instilled the same, knee-jangling unfamiliarity of a previously unflappable man being domineered in an inability to resist engaging one-sided servitude in all of them. Her, utterly defenceless in a face down position and me, somehow totally at her mercy.

The taste and the texture was strange at first, but I got used to it. It was much wetter and warmer inside than I'd realised. I tried to get my tongue as deep as possible and quickly found my jaw aching as I opened my mouth wider to get deeper into her. Her hips and ass were so juicily filled out with mature female muscle and a soft layer of fat, that from the side you wouldn't be able to see my face, only the back of my head would be visible, the rest buried in her cheeks, which occasionally jiggled with twitches of satisfaction. Each twitch made my heart skip with mental images of her, embroiled in orgasmic pleasure, contracting around me and breaking me beyond repair without even realising. I hadn't realised either how close the bottom of the pussy and the asshole are. I could smell a combination of sweat, soaking wet pussy and the unmistakable aroma of ass. The back of my neck started to ache quickly as my hands tried to hold her fat ass cheeks apart to give me room to please her. They felt like impossible waves of flesh ready to clap together and crush me between them if I didn't make her happy; a pair of enforcers working for her pleasure rather than simply parts of her body. I couldn't see over or around them, they blocked out my world.