Zaftig Society Ch. 03byJorisKHuysmans©
This is the belated third part to a story; you should read the first two first to build the anticipation properly. That said, the story so far: Doreen, a lonely, plus-sized middle-aged widow, receives an invitation from something called The Zaftig Society for what appears to be a swingers' party. She attends and surprises herself by allowing a man to have sex with her while she watches others having sex. But when a few of them seem to think they know her, she comes to a realization which sends her home in tears.
She opened the door to her home, her tomb-like home, the evening in ashes. Once the door was shut she sobbed, loudly and drily, her wet tears exhausted on the drive home. She knew, she knew, it was awful, the most awful thing she could know, she knew it. It was the only explanation, because it explained everything.
Robotically she undressed for bed; the purple dress, once worn with such pride and anticipation, was tossed in a corner like trash. She put on the nondescript nightgown she often wore when she knew no one would see her in it, and crawled into bed, hoping for sleep to carry her off quickly. It did not.
Men at the party believed that she had been there before. They knew Paul, so if they said he had been there, he must have been. But Doreen had never been there. There was only one way to make sense of these facts.
Doreen had a sister, Lauren. There was a time when the two of them could almost have been mistaken for twins; but as Doreen, married, grew larger and aged into middle-age, mother and daughter came to be as likely a guess. Lauren was curvy, bountifully so, but never heavy, like Doreen was. Lauren seemed youthful and energetic when Doreen knew she did not.
Lauren had lived in Florida for many years but she had moved back to town half a dozen years ago. Doreen, happy to have her sister back in town, had made her a part of her and Paul's life, and Paul seemed contented, in an absent-minded way, with this.
Looking back, Doreen wondered where the deception started. She could vaguely remember Paul running Doreen to an exercise class she was taking, Paul giving Doreen a lift downtown to meet up with friends on an evening when he had work to do at the office. The schedule of the Zaftig Society was infrequent enough that a number of different excuses could have been used for Lauren and Paul to leave the house together, without Doreen becoming suspicious.
So they went, together, to the Zaftig Society. And they fucked, as they would never have dared to do at home. They fucked and sucked. Paul ate her pussy. He held her hips while watching another man's cock go in and out of her cunt, come inside her. They kissed as she was fucked, as he fucked another woman. Whatever was done at the Zaftig Society, they did it together. They shared something that Paul had never shared with his own wife— they enjoyed carnal satisfactions that Paul never suggested to his own wife. That he robbed her of all those years while they had the perfunctory, routine sex of a husband and wife for whom desire had ceased being of importance.
And then Paul had died suddenly. A heart attack while driving to a client's office and he was gone for good. Doreen's world had been shattered, but what she had seen, resented at the time, but never really understood was how hard it had hit Lauren as well. In some ways she had found Lauren's reaction immature— he was my husband, she had no right to be so upset by his death, she thought. Her job was to help Doreen, not demand attention and sympathy for herself. It was sibling rivalry, she felt deep down somewhere, and she was not sorry when Lauren moved away six months or so later.
But now she knew. He had not been her husband, at the heart of his sensuality. He had been Lauren's; the most intimate acts of his life had been with Lauren, not with Doreen.
Over the days to come, she would first rage at Paul for having deprived her of this pleasure, for having kept her from being a part of this other life in which he showed who he really was. Then the fire cooled in her and she looked back on their marriage, almost as if it were a case study and she did not know the people involved. If this was Paul's chosen life, what kind of wife had she been to him that he felt he could not share it with her? What did he think of her that he sought to do these things not with his own wife, but with a revised version of her, younger and more attractive to be sure, but also— Doreen knew— more freespirited, more sensual, simply more fun to be around?
Yet the bitterest irony was knowing that he had simply gauged her wrong. That it had only taken a single invitation and she was at once engaged in exactly what he had never even dared breathe a hint of to her. He had not only robbed her of that pleasure, of that deepest intimacy of marriage, he had robbed himself of it. He had been a fool, and died never knowing what sort of creature he had married and shared a bed with.
And over the next two weeks she went from the bleakest depths of depression and lethargy to a steely determination. Paul was dead, but she was not. He had deprived her of things; she would not deprive herself of anything, ever again.
* * *
The door opened. Doreen was standing there in another, newly-bought green dress which hugged her boxy form, made curves out of her heavy breasts and broad hips. Carl, the doctor who owned the house, welcomed her with warmth but a veneer of discretion; he might never have been closer to her than two people at the same table. No sign that he had once pounded his cock into her from behind as she watched others fuck.
She gave him a peck on the cheek and they went inside. Inside she took his hands and explained very simply what she wanted. He nodded with understanding and then he took her upstairs.
They passed the room where she had been fucked the week before and came to a door at the end of the hall. He opened and it was his master bedroom, clearly. At first glance it seemed perfectly respectable, masculine; only after you looked at it for a moment did the furnishings seem a bit too much, almost lubricious. He pointed to a large mahogany bureau and unlocked it with a key on his chain, explaining that if there were any special devices she might want for the evening, they would be found inside. She marveled at the idea; it had never occurred to her to ever use such a thing in the act of sex, let alone that someone might keep them at hand like that.
He pulled the door behind her and she looked at herself in the closet mirror. The sight that had once disappointed her, vaguely, that had made her ashamed, she now knew to be desirable. She pulled the skirt up and then the entire dress over her head, revealing the other thing she had bought recently: silk lingerie. She had liked this one in particular— well, for one, for not being white like a shroud; it was a kind of bronze color. But also for the way it pushed her large breasts up, making appealing and bounteous cleavage, while following her form loosely below. She shimmied in it and admired how her hips and ass jiggled. We'll see how much this old ass can jiggle tonight, she thought to herself.
There was a knock and she said come in. It was Carl again, bringing her the cocktail she had asked for. It would surely help her nerves, she thought. He complimented her on her lingerie and she smiled, genuinely. How long since she had heard such a thing?
She moved toward him, pressed her body against his. He was still fully dressed but that was not a problem. She felt at his fly and he seemed to respond, by what she felt. She unzipped it, felt around roughly and, she thought, clumsily, but soon enough had the warmth of a cock in her hands, for the first time in two years.
She knelt down, wet her lips, and took his cock in her mouth. She had done it with Paul, not unenthusiastically, she believed, but at this moment she felt hunger like she never had before. To have a hard pole in her mouth, throbbing with life— it was such a wonderful thing. Why did we not do this all the time?
She licked down the shaft and then to his wrinkly balls dangling below. She could not remember paying that much attention to Paul's balls but suddenly they were the most remarkable thing in the world, she licked the soft, rubbery skin to feel the balls inside, felt the cock flop against her cheek, smear her with her own saliva. Then she had to have it in her mouth again, and she sucked the head. Then she had to have it somewhere else, too.
She unbuttoned his shirt, tenderly, giving kisses to his nipples, which sagged a little with age but to her seemed the most beautiful things she had ever seen, so petite next to her own. Then she unbuckled his belt and his pants dropped. She backed away from him, a smile on her lips, and lay back on the bed.
There were no panties under the bronze negligee, and what was hinted at in her face seemed to explode in the color of dark fur, purple lips, shimmering wetness between her fat thighs. She reached down and pulled her pussy apart; it was wet enough, she did not have time for licking. He came forward and was on top of her and then inside her, almost in one move. As he fucked her she loved the feeling of his flesh against her thighs but only his weight riding against the silky negligee; it was as if she were in a condom, she thought, laughing to herself.
Fucking. This is good. This is the meaning of life. This is what I was made for. These were the thoughts in her mind as he plowed into her, with each thrust of his weight upon her, as she jiggled in all directions, her sagging breasts, her fat belly, her round ass. At a certain point his head arched up and she felt him coming inside her. He was finished; she knew she was nowhere near that.
After a few minutes of lying there next to her, he began to stir. She whispered what she wanted. He kissed her and told her to wait a moment. He dressed quickly and went out.
She lay back on the bed, idly rubbing her freshly fucked pussy. Two men in bathrobes came in. She had never seen them before. One of them, a tall rangy man with sandy hair, asked if she had just had someone cum in her. It was a funny question, she thought, but she thought nothing of answering it in this context, and said yes. Immediately he was on his knees at the edge of the bed, licking her pussy and holding on to her broad ass. The other, a shorter, dark-faced fellow, Italian or Greek, stood there as if unsure what to do. She reached over to him and pulled his robe apart, revealing his cock underneath. It was a chubby little thing, with fat little balls beneath. She found it adorable and leaned over to lick it all over.
The chubby cock grew to a decent length and she sucked it, hard, as the tall man licked away at her pussy. Suddenly he climbed on top of her and thrust into her, hard. He filled her like the doctor had not. It took her a moment before she even realized the milestone she had just passed— two cocks, one in her pussy, one in her mouth. What kind of whore takes two cocks at once? An alive one. She sucked all the more vigorously with the thought.
In a moment she could feel the cock in her mouth ready to spurt. She squealed and the man fucking her began ramming her harder. From the corner of her eye she could see— my God, the door was ajar and there was a couple standing there watching. She began fucking harder, shaking the bed, shaking her own fat up and down until it started to build in her. She had practically forgotten the cock in her mouth when suddenly she felt warm slippery cum fill her mouth. She sucked it down greedily and swallowed it and then she came, screaming, trying to suck the cock in her pussy all the way inside her with her powerful thigh muscles. The man came a few moments later, she felt her pussy grow slicker with a second load.
She lay there, lost in thought, and suddenly she realized that the couple had slid in beside her. A beautiful woman, a few years younger than herself, was looking at her... admiringly? Perhaps. Suddenly she wanted to do a thing she had never done in her life— well, that was happening a lot today. She leaned her head forward to kiss the woman. Her lips, her face— so soft, so different from a man's. Was there so much pleasure to be had with women, too? It had never occurred to her.
They kissed and Doreen rolled onto her side so she could feel the woman's curvy body, so soft and velvety. She didn't even notice what the man was doing until she suddenly felt some kind of cold slippery gel on the crack of her ass. Then something was pressing at her ass, but she could tell by where the man was that he wasn't trying to insert his cock. She felt her hole begin to open and something slide in. A toy from the cabinet. It was nothing like a cock in her pussy— it was painful yet delicious, it was an invasion, it was total surrender. She wanted this, too, now, things in her ass.
The man slowly pushed it in and out of her ass as Doreen licked her way down to the woman's breasts. Like her own, the breasts flattened out but Doreen found she could shape them back into globes with her hands and suck on the big nipples. Down she moved until she had the woman's vagina before her. Her tongue jumped up and run up and down the labia, tasting a metallic taste as the lips parted for her and her tongue found more oozing wetness inside. It was marvelous, alive and welcoming, pussy was. Why had she not been licking it her whole life?
She sucked and licked at the velvety skin and as she did the toy was pulled from her ass. Now a cock was at her ass, and she felt the head press against her. It started to spread the ring of her hole open, and she pushed against it, beckoning it more fully within her. Slowly, as she pushed, she felt the full cock slip inside her, burying her face in the pussy before her and letting the pain she felt out through more vigorous licking of the vagina in her face. Soon it was in, fully, and she rode the cock in her ass in a rhythm with the pussy she licked.
She had no idea how much time passed, all she knew was that sensation followed sensation. She was laying backwards on top of a black man, his cock in her pussy, while his friend, also black, licked at both of them, her pussy and the balls bouncing against her. She sat in the lap of another man while his woman licked at her nipples; eventually the man splattered cum on her breasts and the woman and she laughed as she and the woman shared the cum as she licked it up. She was in the bathroom, sucking at two cocks alternately, then together, their cum spurting over her face.
A woman came and licked her clean, like a cat grooming. The two women were sitting in the shower and a man came toward them, pointing his soft cock at them until piss started to flow from it, a warm rain all over their breasts, splashing their faces. They kissed and licked at each other, the saltiness of the piss another new thing. Washed off, they climbed into the bed and Dorene went from licking her pussy to rolling her over and licking her ass, smashing her big round buttocks around her face as her tongue forced her way inside. Dorene fucked the other woman's pussy with the toy while she slid one finger in and out of the woman's ass. She fell asleep, laying against the other woman, savoring her warmth and the feeling of sex, of sex having taken place everywhere on her body at once.
* * *
She woke up alone. In a moment she realized that she had slept in the doctor's bed, and was vaguely embarrassed at the thought that she'd probably forced him to spend the night on a couch. Then she realized it was probably a foolish thought— there was certainly more than one bed in this house.
She dressed and went, tentatively, downstairs. Carl was sitting by the pool with a couple. It took her a moment and then she realized, with a couple of whom, she had had the man's cock in her ass and eaten the woman's pussy. She waved at them shyly, and they smiled back. Oh god, she thought, how do you do this?
Carl got up and opened the screen door to come inside. He was dressed as if for tennis, and gave her a polite peck on the cheek. It was astonishing how easily others could switch back and forth, she thought; she felt like the scarlet whore of the universe.
"Did you have a good sleep?" She lit up as red as a stoplight.
"Just come with me," she said, taking his hand. She felt like she couldn't have a normal conversation; the only way to have one was to be in the same position, naked in body and soul, lovers. Carl waved to the others that he was headed upstairs and they nodded, as if fucking on a moment's desire were the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
They were laying in Carl's bed, curled together, freshly licked and fucked. "So what now?" she asked.
"In what sense?" he said.
"What do I do now? I'm a whore." "Tsk, tsk--"
"No, it's true. And I love it. I regret all the years I didn't do this. I know that now," she said, gravely, thoughts of dead Paul and her own mortality around the edges. "But what do I do? How do I live like this?"
"Ah," he said. "Well, obviously the Zaftig Society is organized with discretion, so that members can participate while maintaining a normal life in the community."
"So that's it? I just come here once a month and... do it?" She frowned. "There's a little something of the brood cow about that."
Carl adjusted himself up onto one elbow. "Actually, this is jumping the gun a bit, but I had something in mind and, well."
"You know that I'm a widower."
"And although my basic needs are certainly met by this social circle..." "They certainly were just now, I hope," she smirked, running her hands over his soft cock and balls.
"Very well, I must say," he said, and nuzzled her neck. Then he backed off and looked at her. "But I'm lonely. It's a lonely house, in need of a feminine touch. And, frankly, the Society needs a hostess." She was surprised. "Are you saying..."
"We're certainly sexually compatible. I'm not saying that we rush into it. But I would be very happy if... if you would consider... well, besides our relationship here," he said, gesturing toward the bed, "maybe we could think about a relationship together. Sharing a life together, all of it."
The word "sharing" brought her up short, even more than the idea that she was, in a rather practical adult way, being proposed to. But it gave her pause. She had never expected to be with anyone again, and now a door to a remarkable world had just opened for her. She was not prepared to close it again, to close her world down again to what it had been with Paul, one man and one woman.
"I'm flattered, and... I'm touched," she said, tracing something on his chest. "But... I've just discovered who I really am. I can't turn back from that. Would being your wife... would it mean the end of all this and being solely for you?"
"Good heavens no," he said. "This is how I live. I want it to be with you, shared with you. Doing whatever you want to do. Nothing could be more exciting to me."
She thought for a minute, then climbed on top of him again, resting her hanging breasts and belly on his. "All right then," she said. "Do you think your friends downstairs would be willing to come up here for a little bit?"