Real BBW: The Wild Atlantic Way

For as long as I can remember being interested in the opposite sex, I've been a BBW lover, a chubby chaser. Curvy girls are my weak spot - big boobs, butts and bellies. As a long time bachelor, I've been able to indulge my passion for BBWs. This story is true. The names and some of the places have changed, but the hot sexy plumper action is recounted here exactly as I remember it...

I pulled up outside the bed and breakfast at dusk. The carpark was empty. It was late September, the tail end of the Irish summer and the nights on the Atlantic coast were getting cooler. It was a cute building made of dark grey stone, an old mill or storehouse in a previous life. Thick ivy spread across its front, snaking around the windows and the big black door that bore the B&B's name - Grá Homestead.

I took my bag from the trunk of the hire car and turned the brass doorknob to enter the B&B. There was a cosy little reception area, with overstuffed chairs and antique furniture, very tastefully done. A small counter lay ahead, clustered with the usual tourist brochures, and guest book you expect in such places. But there was no one behind the desk.

I put down my bag and leaned on the counter. I looked at the bell on the counter top, but decided against ringing it. My parents had run a motel when I was a kid growing up in Queensland and I'd grown to hate the tinkle of the bell that signalled another guest wanting something.

The place had a woman's touch with dried flower arrangements and a haunting woman's voice in Gaelic playing low on the Bose speaker on the sideboard. I stood for a while, soaking in the surroundings. Still no one came. The door at the back of the office was slightly ajar. I cleared my throat, still nothing. Okay, there was nothing left to do. I tapped my finger down on the bell. Around 30 seconds later, I could feel the vibration of feet descending stairs. The woman swung the door back and rushed into the office.

"I'm so sorry, how long were you there?"

My breath caught in my throat. She was stunning. The first thing I noticed was the crack between her great big milky tits which was eventually obscured by a low-cut blue singlet, a single red bra strap visible over the curve of her ample left breast. She had curly dirty blonde hair and a broad attractive face with a slightly upturned nose that I instantly loved. Her dimpled cheeks were flushed with patches of red.

"Just a minute or two," I said.

"Oh good, I though you were probably having dinner in town so was expecting you a bit later." She sounded a little out of breath, nervous even.

She approached the counter. She was panting slightly from her hurried descent down the stairs. But she also looked a little clammy, the ringlets of her hair matted, a sheen of moisture on her brow. I was already aroused.

"I got caught up with work so didn't -"

I stopped. Now I could smell her. Her scent seemed to have filled the poky office. It wafted over the counter top like a warm thick wave. It was the musky, heady scent of wet pussy. Mixed in was a hint of sweat and a faint trace of perfume. But the source of that blissful aroma was unmistakeable. My cock started to swell in my pants.

She looked up at me, wide blue eyes blinking and I immediately imagined her upstairs, in her small rustic bedroom, her jeans around her ankles, fingers of one hand working her hairy golden pussy while she squeezed a big pink nipple with the other.

I could see the outline of those thick nipples now as she leaned over the counter to fill out a registration form for me, creating a ledge of glorious soft flesh I struggled to draw my eyes from.

"I mean, I thought I'd be here earlier," I stammered.

"No trouble," she grinned at me, finishing with the form and turning around to open a drawer.

"I'll just get your key. I'm putting you in the cottage, beautiful spot, normally put the honeymooners there."

She had a firm but curvy ass, a hint of pale waistline showing above her jeans and just the tip of green Celtic insignia protruding from her top, suggesting the culturally appropriate tramp stamp that must snake across her lower back. The head of my cock strained against my pants and pressed up hard against the counter sending a jolt through me.

She fumbled through the keys, then knocked two off their hooks. With a sigh she bent over to retrieve them and in doing so confirmed what my nose had told me. There was a dark wet patch in the gusset of her jeans. How wet must she have been?

Wet enough to be able to smell herself as her hand closed around the cottage keys on the floor. She stood up quickly and turned around, a hand covering her rear, looking at me with barely disguised alarm. I breathed in deeply, grinning at her widely, revelling in the moment, the knowledge that she knew that I knew what she had been up to.

Of course, she could have been fucking up there, gripping the vintage headboard while some strapping Irish lad pounded her ass from behind.

But my radar for single women was as good as my nose for pussy. She had a thick silver Celtic band on her ring finger, not a wedding ring and there wasn't any male DNA in the whole place, from the way the recycling bins had been lined up at the roadside, to the moody water color paintings of Atlantic cliffs on the walls. A divorcee maybe, mid thirties, checked out of a marriage that was going nowhere.

"So the honeymoon suite?" I said. "In that case I'm guessing there's a good bed in there."

She nodded slowly, sizing me up with her vivid blue eyes, starting to enjoy the shared secret. She slid the key across the counter to me.

"Why don't you go and settle in," she said. "I'll bring you some fresh milk for the fridge".

"I like it creamy," I said.

"I can guarantee that," she replied, her breasts heaving as she took short breathes, her nipples now mini volcanoes beneath her straining singlet, which had ridden up to show off her plump midriff.

I walked towards the door that would take me to the cottage, then turned side on to her. Her gaze fell to my groin and the tent pole in my trousers.

"I think I'll take a shower," I said. She didn't respond, her eyes locked firmly on my crotch.

****

The water ran hot and and powerful. I heard her enter the cottage, then the creak of the bathroom door swinging open. The outline of her body was soft through the steam in the room. Her nakedness, the thickness of her hips, her thighs, breasts that hung in great ovals almost down to her pierced belly button. I was transfixed, dazed by the hot water.

The next thing I knew she was on her knees in the shower box, her mouth on my cock, rolling back my foreskin, tongue flicking over my head. She expertly sucked me, alternating between the head, shaft and balls as her skin became soaked and started to glow red. I shut off the water to reveal the glorious sounds of the sloppy blowjob she was giving me.

She edged me out of the shower box and made me sit on the vanity. She put down a bath towel to protect her knees and worked on my cock for the next ten minutes, until I was purple. She eased off just in time. We made our way into the cottage bedroom, the furnishings I'd barely noticed earlier as I undressed and headed for the shower, now supplied soft surfaces for a range of fucking positions.

I embraced her from behind, My cock pressing into her butt, my hands full of soft flesh, my face buried in her wet curly hair. Then she was on the bed and spread wide in front of me. She turned out to be clean shaven, another Celtic design in the shape of a cross directly above the long vertical smile of her cunt. Clearly a Catholic girl, which turned me on even more.

I was immediately down there, tonguing her, tasting her and most importantly, smelling her. That muskiness was intense now, filling my nostrils. I hadn't eaten a BBW's pussy in months and luxuriated at my face being between two smooth creamy thighs. I worked her clit in long, steady strokes, feeling her body tensing as the orgasm built.

Then I withdrew and flipped her over, pushing her down onto the plush cotton duvet of the honeymooners' bed. She moaned.

"Don't worry, I'm not done with you," I whispered, slapping her ass.

I pushed her up onto her knees and then proceeded to do the thing I most love to do to a women and which every woman I've ever been with equally loves - I ate out her ass. I buried my face between her butt cheeks and flicked my tongue around the rim of her tight asshole, raising hoarse moans from her that suggested she hadn't been treated this way in a long time.

I stabbed her ass hole, working my tongue in, feeling her tighten around it, totally engulfed in her butt.

"Fuck me!" She screamed.

With one last flourish of tongue work on her ass I rose to my knees, entered her sopping bald pussy and fucked her hard like the Celtic slut she was.The green tramp stamp distorted between my hands, her delicious pink ass hole winked up at me as I spread her cheeks wide. She produced the cream alright, frothy cum from her smeared the length of my shaft.

I could tell she hadn't had much sex recently, but she knew how to build the orgasms expertly, easing off before the swell of pleasure overcame her. She was a hardcore masturbator. Did she use her fingers or a dildo? An image flashed through my mind of her upstairs, spreadeagled, a butt plug in her ass while she worked a giant black plastic cock in and out of her pussy.

This was all too much for me, but I wanted to finish in her warm and soft embrace. I rolled her over on the bed and entered her again, burying my face in her tits. She spread her legs wide, flexing her pelvis, urging me to thrust deeper. I had energy only for one more big build and I indicated that silently, the way only two lovers consumed with lust can. She caught my rhythm and we rode home together. As she screamed in my ear, her nails biting into my back I withdrew and squirted three jets of spunk over her belly and tits.

***

There were no other guests at the homestead that night. The office remained vacant, the dildo collection upstairs safe in its drawer. But the cottage bed got the workout it deserved. The next morning she brought me breakfast in that bed. Only then did she tell me her name - Kath. After a quick, intense fuck - we didn't want the eggs to go cold, we ate breakfast in bed together, as any newly married couple in their honeymoon suite should.

I had to hit the road early, so I showered and packed up. I kissed Kath and promised to leave a great Tripadvisor review. She chuckled at that and pushed me back into the cottage where she sucked me dry one last time and zipped my pants back up.

"You want to know what I was doing last night when you turned up?" Said Kath as she saw me off in the carpark.

For a moment I saw her again with the Irish stud and a storyline of illicit sex with the neighbour over the hedge unfurled in my brain.

"I was doing a cam show."

"Really?" I asked.

She nodded mischievously. I knew instantly what she meant. She knew I'd know what she meant. Those with an immense sexual appetite easily recognise it in others. How many times on the road had I logged on in my hotel room to watch a dirty BBW finger herself to orgasm in front of her web cam, while I jerked myself to oblivion.

I shook my head. "Even I hadn't though of that."

She gave me a slip of paper with the cam show address and her username - CelticKath.

"I'm on most nights, just after six. Unless I have a troublesome guest that is."

She walked back into the stone house. She paused in the doorway.

"Oh by the way, you know what Grá means in Gaelic, right," she said in her mild Irish accent pointing at the homestead sign.

"Love, it means love."

She winked at me and closed the big black door behind her, leaving me with a sore cock, a head full of explosive memories and a long road trip to Dublin ahead of me.