Men don't make love to me. Men fuck me, and that's how I like it. I'm not one for all the romance and emotion, I just like the feel of a good hard strong man's body up against me. I know it's not very ladylike, but it's true.
Last night a man fucked me -- I woke up this morning with the bedsheets still damp with our sweat, the scent of sex filling the air, and him lying beside me, breathing gently. I lay still and looked down at my own body, my breasts gently rising and falling with each breath, the gentle curve of my belly disappearing under the warm duvet. Yes, I know I've got a few spare pounds here and there, especially around my arse and thighs, but it's not unhealthy -- I'm just heavy, and guts seem to like it. Last night, particularly -- he'd got my thighs, and had not been able to stop touching them -- stroking, kissing, slapping, licking, biting. Slim girls can't get things like that.
After the thighs he went down on me. He didn't need any encouragement -- there wasn't any need to beg him for it, no need to promise anything in return. He was good. Not the best, but he was trying. At first it was just kissing and kissing and kissing, but then he slipped his tongue between my lips, and his fingertips.
He's moving in his sleep. He looks so gentle, so innocent now. He's smiling a bit, and I want to run my finger over his sensitive lips. He's not bad looking really, seeing him now. There was a slight scratch down his face, and I wondered if it had been my fingernails. I knew he'd probably have his claw-marks in his back and his buttocks. I tend to have to hold on really tight, especially when things get a bit rough.
My injuries were less. I had a dull ache between my legs, and my breasts were hurting. They're big enough to swing around quite a bit, and they sometimes get quite sore. I think he must have been biting them harder than I remembered. I stroked my nipples gently, wondering if I should go to the bathroom and salve them with Savlon. But I quite liked the feeling -- I'd be okay until I had to put a bra on, and then they might rub a bit.
Yesterday's clothes were strewn on the floor, like in a film. My t-shirt was over the end of the bed, my trousers entwined with his by the door. My panties were beside the bed, his boxers were somewhere. On the floor there were three condoms, all tied off, all used. He must have been saving up, cos they all seemed quite full. I knew he'd blown a load all over my chest too, when I was titfucking him, so three more seemed amazing. Usually I'd get them flushed away straight away, but I must have been so exhausted.
It's have past eight now. He'll wake up soon, and decide if he still wants me. I'm not bothered either way -- even if I am the fat girl his mates ridicule him for, I'll know he fucked me, and he enjoyed every last second of it.
So, three times. I try to piece the evening together. Getting home, undressing. I'd sat on the edge of the bed while he went down on me. Then I'd laid back, and pressing his cock between my boobs, letting him rock back and forth. I rub my neck, and feel the dry smear of when he'd first let it go.
Then something had happened. I look around the room and see the Champagne bottle at the foot of the bed. I say Champagne, I mean Cava. He'd opened it, I think, and we'd drunk some, straight from the bottle. Maybe that's my my memories are a bit hazy. I know he took me from behind at one point. Not anal, but doggy-style, as we used to call it. I remember him thrusting up against my buttocks, which felt really cold against his warm skin, and really wide compared to the tautness of his body. I remember him reaching down to steady my boobs, and grabbing them when he came. I didn't feel like faking, so just stayed there, on my hands and knees, until he recovered.
"Ohgod," he said, "I just couldn't help myself -- you are so perfect".
He lay back on the bed, and I mounted him, kneeling over his flaccid cock as soon as he had replaced the condom. I like being in control, so just started grinding my pussy down against him, feeling him harden. He reached up, and held my hips, gently. My hand guided him in, and I saw him bite his lip.
"Let's see if you can last a bit longer this time?" I said.
Although he was good, I've known guys who've done a lot more with a lot less. Once I was in control it was easy: setting a rhythm that suited me, pausing to tantalise him. I tried staring into his eyes, but he was too distracted by watching my bouncing breasts. He was big, and seemed to be getting even bigger inside me. I saw him bite his lip again, and increased the rhythm, the depth, the angle.
I thought I should a let fake one. A little boost for the poor guy's self-esteem. Maybe he'd even go down on me again.
"Yes, yes, yes," I moaned, "I'm coming."
Until that moment it was fake. But then it happened. I'm not sure what it was, whether he'd just found the right spot, but I had the most mind-blowing orgasm I have ever experienced. The words I had been planning to shout just came out as shallow, silent breaths as the energy coursed through my body. It went up my belly, then down all my limbs, until I felt it reach my toes and fingertips. There wasn't just one. A split-second after the first bolt came another, and another, and another. My pussy was so wet, but felt like it was on fire. Tightening, relaxing, tightening, relaxing.
"Ohfwawgaghgagghagh," I screamed, collapsing forwards. I was hot, and red, and dripping with sweat. I felt like my pussy had collapsed in on itself, tightening, and contracting, and tightening. But he hadn't finished, and was still going. My boobs were completely flushed, my nipples perkier than I have ever seen them before. My thighs were slippery with sweat, my pussy even wetter and more slippery. He kept going, a thum, thum, thum as I felt him squeeze his body, pumping out every last drop, before he stopped, and I dismounted, lying naked beside him, the final sparks of orgasm still flowing through me.
Now I'll roll the duvet down, following down the trail of his hair, to see his sleeping cock. It looks so gentle now. Not like last night. I can't remember much of the detail, but after THAT orgasm he went down on me again. He'd been wearing the condom, so had no problem with getting all over me, licking me dry, nursing and arousing me with the gorgeous tip of his tongue.
We must have done it once more. I think we'd stopped for a while, and just lay, holding each other. Then we'd gone back to it, slower and more gentle. I don't remember much, but I know I enjoyed it.
If he wakes up now he'd have the chance to look at me -- to decide if I'm a big-titted one-night-stand, or whether he wants to see me again. I wonder if I should get up and get dressed, or pretend to be asleep so he can look at me properly, or wake him with a surprise blowjob. Maybe we'll fuck again when he wakes up -- I hope so. I'll see what he thinks.