3 comments/ 43553 views/ 2 favorites Finding The Comfort Zone By: tarkatony Sarah Jones sat on the subway seat with her back inches from the backrest. From years of experience she knew that if she got more comfortable on the seat the stifling heat would fuse her back to the upholstery and her blouse would be soaking when she got off the train. And she was in no mood to get comfortable. She was just about to act on a decision that would change her life, or, at least, she hoped it would, change her life like it needed to be changed. She was alone now, alone to make her own decisions. Her mother had died a week before after a long and difficult illness — an illness with a fascinating irony: an obese body slowly shrunk to a skeleton. Sarah had made the decision on the day of the funeral: she would take a different path from her mother; she would travel the high road; the mountain trail, up steep slopes, through rocky terrain — for the rest of her life. Never once, not for a single step would she trod the downward, comfortable slope to destruction. That's why she was getting off the train in two subway stops: so she could walk the three miles to her home. In her bedroom, she peeled the soaking blouse from her body, glad that she had stored the stand-up mirror in her mother's room. She knew what was beneath the huge sexless bra that in doing its job cut into her shoulders and cinched tight to her back, like a saddle on a horse. She reached behind and when she set it free she sighed and threw it in the hamper then undid her skirt. She had to sit down now. She knew she couldn't take off her pantyhose, sausage skins as she thought of them, balancing on one foot. She had no balance; she was top heavy, ass heavy, thigh heavy — she was a corpulent, featureless mess and when she threw her pantyhose at the hamper, she felt the bile of self-disgust, then she discarded her panties with the same revulsion; they were huge and worn and wet, the very symbol of the 25 year old woman who wore them. She didn't cry today. That surprised her, she always cried when she came home, she cried about her awful job, her empty evenings, her sick and now dead mother — she cried about her life, once so filled with promise, now so destroyed by fat. Why didn't she cry? She thought about that for a moment: maybe she was just too empty to care any more ... or maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to imagine a glimmer of hope. She reached for the large bag on the floor and shook it over the bed. Out tumbled new jogging suits and jog bras, sports socks and underwear, walking shoes and sweat bands. Just before she left her apartment she opened the journal on the kitchen table and wrote 'Day 1: Walked three miles home. Going on three mile walk.' ... Day 42 was cold and wet and she was cold and wet but she wanted to make her entry before her bath. The first target: Six Weeks, 'don't even think about what you are doing until you have made it to six weeks.' That's what the book said, and she had embraced the advice, she didn't think about her walking, she just did it, she walked for as long as she could, everyday, in the morning, in the evening and at lunch, too, instead of eating. After six weeks, the book promised, it would get a whole lot easier. She wrote: 'Walked a total of four hours and 14 minutes today.' Six weeks is up: now what? She opened the book on the table and found 'Stage Two' in the index. The Chapter began unexpectedly: 'First, take a moment, imagine who you want to be and what you want to look like; do that today, your 42nd day, and then celebrate, don't forget to celebrate — but not with food.' When she eased herself into the hot water she was surprised that she felt almost pain-free. She was tired, sure, she had been bone tired for six weeks but the pain in her arches, calves, back and shoulder seemed to be gone or almost gone, reason enough to celebrate. But how to celebrate? Is wine food? Probably, it means calories, so with food and drink out, what's left? Not much. Right from the start she had vowed not to set targets, just do it, just do what the bloody book said: don't think, do! Now the book told her to reflect. As the salubrious waters washed over her she dared to imagine what she wanted to look like and a clear image soon emerged: she wanted to look like her mother did three months into her illness when the disease had eaten away half her weight and her face and body took a kind of fat-free definition. She was beautiful, if only for a few weeks, she looked like the pictures of her youth and in her mother, sick and dying, she could see a hint of herself — a self that was buried deep beneath the fat of self-indulgence. She relaxed and glared into nothingness. The image of her new self danced in her mind, literally, in colourful clinging clothes, a thin, lithe body in the arms of an adoring man, holding her, swinging her in a blurring arc of happiness. She had noticed it a few days before, just a hint, but the hint had slowly built to a feeling and the feeling was in her now. At first she didn't know what it was, she had never felt it before but as it grew stronger it became ever more obvious: she was feeling her own emerging sexuality. It was the first dividend of fitness and she didn't know what to do with it; it was like an itch that she didn't dare scratch. She knew about masturbation, she had read about it, had read that it wasn't for everyone and she had known it wasn't for her. She looked down at the large melons spilling off her chest and her huge pink belly rounding from the water like a grotesque, bald island. She was ugly, repulsive — yes, but not as ugly, not so repulsive as before and she felt a little more alive; life seemed to be just a little bit more promising. Maybe. Just maybe .... She struggled from the tub and quickly dried herself and she looked in the cabinet, moving bottles and jars until she found it. It is day 42: 'Who do you want to be?' That's what the book asked and it stated, emphatically: celebrate. Who is that girl in the dress at the dance? Watch her. See her climb onto the bed with the jar in her hand, see her kick back the duvet and sheets to lie down with her head on the pillow. She is a pretty girl with intelligent black eyes, a thin elegant nose, wide full lips and a strong determined chin, all surrounded by thick black hair, the same colour as the bush between her elegant legs, stretched wide on the sheet. She really is beautiful, sexy even ... even desirable. As her fingers move slowly to her thigh, she opens her legs wider and let her fingers crawl, not on puckered flaccid fat but on the trim brown thighs of her imagination. The tingle was stronger now and her breathing more rapid but when she looked, she didn't see a heavy heaving chest, she saw instead the erotic perky tits of the girl, large and firm and feminine, with nipples stiff and erect. When her fingers found the gully of her crotch she let out a sigh, a sound she had never heard before — the feeling was so strange, so foreign, so intimate. She was encouraged, she willed her fingers on. The hair of her crotch was sparse and stiff, not like the delicate cover of her pussy, so soft and sensitive. She shifted excitedly on the sheet, bunching the pillow under her head, the better to see the trim young body of her dream. Her fingers were in the tangled hair of her mound and they found her crack, but she didn't go in, instead, she followed it slowly along its length, squirming to open herself wider and when she got to the bottom her fingers joined a small river that flowed to the puckered mystery between her cheeks. Another sound escaped from her now gaping lips, a little scary this time, but exciting, too and she shifted further on the bed, no longer needing to watch, now intent on the feeling, the feeling of her fingers probing at her anus, not deep, just to the gateway, where she pushed gently, wanting to go further ... and then she remembered the jar. It was on the bed, beside her and without moving she reached it, pried off the lid and with two fingers scooped out the viscous jelly, swathing it on her bud. It felt cool and oddly sexual, as if it should be there, there between the trim tight cheeks of her dream. She sat up now, fascinated. What is happening she asked herself, as she brought her heels to her cheeks and, as she gazed across her hairy mound she stretched her knees wider apart and pushed her ass at her finger, a middle finger that carefully forced against her bud. At first it refused entry, but she persisted and it relented and she was through, sliding on a skiff of oily slickness past the tight rim and the sound that came from within her was a sound of joy, exquisite, animal joy that encouraged her to probe, to go deeper, to twirl round the forbidden zone as the feeling built and built and built and when it hit her she bucked spastically on the bed, clamping her hand in the tight vice of her thighs and the sudden scream was only partly muffled as she forced her face into the fat of her shoulder. She lay like that, not wanting to remove her finger, not caring about the pool of drool beside her mouth. The lithe, brown body looked so lovely curled around the arm, the arm that reached between the thin brown legs. As she washed the clinging jelly from her fingers she stole a glance in the mirror and was surprised to see a smile. Oh, God, what a joy it is to be naughty and oh, how she wanted to be that thin brown body she had imagined on the bed, the lithe body squirming against the wet probing fingers, so sexual, so alive. Could she be me? Is that possible? And then she thought of Stage Two and she couldn't wait to begin. She tapped her pen on the page entitled 'Day 84,' and re-read her entry. 'Finished six weeks of walking and the gym. I am healthier, stronger and fitter — and I'm thinner! How much thinner?' How could that be measured? When she started her program she didn't dare step on a scale and didn't dare put a tape measure to her body, so how could she calculate her loss? She couldn't but suddenly she had an idea. She hurried to her bedroom and scooped out everything from her top draw and threw it on the bed and then she began to separate and in less then a minute there was her answer. She had saved a single pair of white panties from when she started her fitness-nutrition program 12 weeks ago. She smoothed them out on the bed and selected another pair, blue ones that she knew she had bought on Day 42. She put these on top of the first and smoothed them out and then placed a yellow pair on top of these, panties she had bought three weeks ago, and finally she selected the red cotton panties she had bought just yesterday and she placed these on top of the pile and smoothed them out. She looked at the little stack, so neatly rainbowed, for just a minute and tried to imagine the final pair that would rest on top of the pile. But she checked herself and rolled the little stack into a tube and placed it back in the drawer before throwing in the others. When she returned to her notebook she wrote: 'See panty drawer!' She hadn't yet had the courage to shower at the gym, just a five minute walk from her apartment. If she was going to take her clothes off in front of others it was damn well going to be the new girl, not the old one, but the new girl hadn't yet fully emerged. But she was getting close, she could feel it as she rubbed the bar of soap against her taunt skin. Yes, there are folds she didn't want, but they weren't so deep as before and there weren't so many either and she was feeling so much better, really, remarkably better and she had so much more energy. And tonight, Day 126, her energy wasn't yet fully spent so after her shower and after her tuna salad, she faced a task she had long delayed; she opened the door to her mother's room and went to work with focused concentration. She had been dreading the chore but was surprised at how easy it was. She had desperately loved her mother, couldn't imagine living without her, but she was now living without her, and living much better. 'Trust a Commerce major to be so rational,' she said to herself, as she boxed up her mother's clothing. But she had already done her mourning; she had spent her pent-up grief walking the sidewalks of the city. Now, there was nothing left but memories, and these, too, were disappearing into the boxes — the clothing, pictures, booklets, mementos and knick knacks. Within two hours, the large bedroom in the three bedroom condominium- apartment, fully paid for and now hers, had been stripped of sentiment, but not yet of memories. Though it was the largest and brightest bedroom in the place, it was too soon to be hers. The other bedroom had long been her computer room and she went there now, as she did one night a week to log-on on to literotica.com. When she hit the new submissions she looked for the only stories she would read — stories about transformation or, more precisely, metamorphosis, like her own. Though she was often disappointed, tonight there appeared to be two and when she began to read she was hoping to be transported to an exciting new world of discovery. She seemed skeptical at first, her eyes coolly darting across the page but soon she leaned in, closer to the screen and a hand gently cupped a breast, a thumb absently stroking a nipple. In four paragraphs she knew she was interested so she stood up and quickly pushed down her sweat pants and kicked them off and sat back down again with her fingers on her pink, nylon panties. It didn't take very long, it never did. Soon she could see the lithe young woman with the thin brown legs. She was so sexy, so adventurous, so willing to try anything — to enjoy everyone. And when the lithe young woman with the thin brown legs finally morphed into her self, she slipped her hand beneath her wet panties and touched the spot that would, for a moment, merge her with her dream. ... Call it idiosyncratic, but we can often enjoy in others what we hate in ourselves. The man had been coming to the gym each day for the past two weeks, clearly on an exercise kick to lose some of the immense weight that burdened his hulking frame. The moment she saw him, from eyes squinting through sweat, Sarah wanted to go up to him, to encourage him, to say 'I know you can do it,' but she didn't, not for two weeks, but she did today. "It's tough, isn't it?" He looked out of place on the exercise bike, like an adult on a tricycle. "Awful." The word was almost inaudible through the panting. "Would you like to get a drink later?" The man's head, which had been bowed in determination, shot up, "Really?" Sarah nodded, "In, say, an hour?" They met in the lobby. "Do you live nearby?" The man nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead, "Two minutes away." "Great," she said, "which way?" As she changed the bag that contained her office clothes from her right to her left hand, she reached out to him, "I'm Sarah Jones." "Rick Bradley," he said, clearly confused. They talked haltingly about the neighbourhood as they walked along, side by side, and Sarah explained how she hated to go to bars and was so pleased he had invited her back to his place. "It's a bit of a mess," he said, as he unlocked the apartment door, "tomorrow's usually my cleaning day." Sarah wasn't even through the door when she said, "Do you mind if I take a quick shower," then, reading his face, she added, "I never shower at the gym, it's just too public for me." "Ah, sure, no problem, just give me a minute, I'll find a towel." She was alone in the living room, made more tiny by the jumble of pizza boxes, styrofoam burger containers and large plastic pop bottles. She impulsively reached for a box, meaning to begin cleaning up but she checked herself. Where would she put all the stuff? "Is this OK?" He handed her a beach towel. "Great, thanks, I'll be just a few minutes," and she headed through the door he had just exited. The washroom was just as grottie as the living room, but she ignore it and quickly stripped off her still wet gym clothes and stepped into the tub. She was nervous, this was all so new to her, but she was excited, too; she was turning to an entirely new page in her life. What would she write in her journal? He had cleared the room of its more portable detritus and two cans of beer were sweating on the peeling coffee table when she returned, toweling her hair. "This is all I have," he said, motioning to the beer. "I hope it's OK." "It's fine," she smiled, reaching for one of the cans and saluted him with it. "Here's to friendships," she tried not to wince at the unfamiliar taste, then she sat on the couch and looked at him expectantly. "I'm so glad to be here with you." "Yes, yes," he blustered, "I'm glad to be here with you," and he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She patted the couch beside her, "Sit with me." He hesitated for a moment then moved slowly to the couch and when he sat down she shifted over to press herself against his arm. They sat awkwardly for a minute then she said, "Would you put your arm around me?" She moved away as he clumsily pulled his arm up and placed it around her shoulders and when he did, she moved in to him, pressing herself against him, pushing her cheek into his chest. "You feel so soft and warm. This is wonderful," she said, snuggling even closer. "You feel soft and warm yourself," he muttered. She brought her left arm across his huge belly and gave him a hug and then ran her hand up and down his shirt, wet with nervous sweat. She waited, hoping he would caress her arm or kiss her hair or pull her into him, but he did nothing so she finally said, "Can we go into the other room?" And she looked up at him, smiling expectantly. "The other room?" She stood up and took his hand, "Your bedroom," and when she pulled at his hand he struggled to his feet and followed her. The room was no less a mess then the others: the bed was a tangle of sheets on top of which was a pizza box holding four crusts, a bundle of clothes and two open Playboys, one sprawling its centerfold. As he hurried to swipe the Playboys and the clothes onto the floor, Sarah moved to the glaring window and pulled the heavy curtains closed, "I'm a little shy," she said, as she pulled the light shirt over her head and pushed her skirt to the floor. He stood staring at her, the only hint that he knew what was happening was the growing tent in his pants. Dressed only in white bra and pink panties, she walked forward and stopping in front of him, she unbuttoned his shirt and when she finished it fell from his enormous stomach like curtains opening onto a stage. Her fingers were on his belt now and she was struggling with it, so he helped her and soon his pants were piled at his ankles and she was pulling down his underwear. She kissed him on the cheek and gently motioned him to the bed and when he sat down she removed her bra and stripped off her panties and climbed onto the bed, rolling over to lie in the middle, pulling the pillow under her head. The sun peeped in between the curtains so in the grey light she could see him turn on the bed and lie down beside her. She lay there for a moment, feeling his huge bulk next to her, feeling her flesh wanting to rush to his, to rub against his fat, to feel his folds and sweat, to be smothered in his skin, to nestle her face in the flab of his neck. "Hold me," she said, as she moved in to him, and when he reached for her she climbed onto him and felt his stiff prick poke into her groin, into the side of her pussy and she lay still, clinging to him, feeling the heat of his fat spill into her, as her mother's fat used to do, warm and soft and surrounding, like a cocoon, like the safe place it had always been. They lay like that for a few minutes and she noticed he was lightly panting, little groans seemed to escape with his breath and she thought she could feel a new wetness on her leg so she sat up and reached for his penis. Finding The Comfort Zone She was surprised at how small it was, perhaps because of his fat and as she leaned down to inspect it closely she could see it was leaking a fluid that appeared clear on her fingers. She wrapped her fingers around his sticky member and when she stroked it once, she heard a loud, guttural groan and felt a hot splash on her face, just above her lips and his body was shaking like an earthquake when the creamy liquid seeped into her mouth. "Oh, God, Oh, God, I'm sorry." The fat man awkwardly rolled off the bed and trundled from the room and was back in seconds with a towel soaked at one end. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," he repeated, roughly swabbing her face, "I didn't mean to do that. It just happened." Sarah noticed his penis was still erect so she reached out and took it like a handle and gently pulled him back on the bed. "It's OK," she said softly and she moved aside as she helped him to lie back down and when he was settled she bent down and took his penis in her mouth and sucked on it, feeling its hardness grow against her lips and she pulled at his leg so they would open and she curled with her back against him, with her head on his warm pillow of a belly and she ran her fingers through the deep fold of fat under his belly and she sucked and licked at the end of his prick until she could hear his guttural moans again and she could feel the hot stream shoot into the back of her throat. He didn't roll away this time. He just lay there, moaning and after a while he put a hand on her backside and rubbed at it, as if removing a stain. "What should I do?" She turned on the bed and getting to her knees, she leaned over him, dangling a breast above his mouth. He didn't need instructions. As he pulled her down, he took the breast in his mouth and made as much noise with it as she did sucking his prick. "Slowly," she said, as she caressed his face, "I want to enjoy this with you." It felt wonderful, truly wonderful so she lay down beside him, cradled his head on her arm and as she encouraged him to nurse, she explored his folded fat with her fingers. It felt so peaceful, so soothing that soon she felt herself dozing off, so she checked the digital clock on the table and sat up, again turning to his penis, touching it to test its stiffness. It was hard so she lifted a leg over him, stretching wide to straddle his massive thigh, then she shimmied forward, up his thighs until she could feel his penis against the lips of her cunt. With her hand on his penis, she hesitated for a moment, then she let it go and said to him, "Put it in me." He did. He clumsily pitched forward and in a single motion grabbed his prick and stuffed it at her and she wiggled and let her weight down on it, cautiously, expectantly, feeling it slide against her slippery walls until the sharp pain hit her and he was through. And so was she — through another barrier in her life and she felt a smiled spread across her face as the stream of hot cum shot into her. She was off him and on the floor before his moaning stopped. She quickly got dressed, tore open the curtains and bent down, took his flaccid sticky penis between her fingers and kissed it, then kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, as she surveyed the huge mound of flesh, now almost comatose on the bed, "this was wonderful." And she felt wonderful all the way home and when she entered her apartment she threw her keys on the hall table and went directly to the kitchen table, sat down and opened her journal. Day 168: 'I wallowed in a man's fat today. I invited myself to his place (what a mess!) and actually forced myself on him. It was easy, remarkably easy and it felt wonderful, he was so fat and so warm and so welcoming. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would but I didn't have an orgasm (he had 3!). I liked it. I like everything about being with him, the sex, the intimacy but especially snuggling next to him. It reminded me of others days. It was beautiful, I felt beautiful and safe.' Then she wrote down his name, address and the phone number she had easily memorized. ... She started running on day 210, just as the book said: 3 minutes running, two minutes walking for half an hour after her workout. By day 252 she had reached the target: a three mile run in less then 30 minutes and she did as the book demanded, she celebrated. She thought of calling him but instead, like the two other times since she first went to his apartment, she just knocked on his door. When he opened the door, he was wiping his hands on his sweat pants. She brushed by him and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'll clean up as you have your shower," and without further comment she went to his bedroom, pulled fresh sheets from the bottom drawer of his dresser and made the bed. He was toweling himself off when she began taking off her clothes. "Have you given up?" "Yes," he responded, ashamed. She smiled her compassion, "It's hard, isn't it?" "It's impossible. I don't know how you've done it." She placed her bra on top of her panties on the dresser. "By not thinking about it. Ever. Lie down." He did as he was told and she took the towel from him and rubbed him, across his chest, stomach and then she encouraged him to open his legs and she carefully twisted the towel around his erection and roughly rubbed at the crevices of his groins. Then she left the room and returned with a wet face cloth which she balled up and put on the night table. He had pulled two pillows under his head and watched her as she bent over from the end of the bed and took his hard penis in her mouth. She sucked on it while caressing his balls with one hand and lightly pinching his thigh with the other and within a minute he was bucking at her, "Oh, God, oh, God, oh God..." At the last second, she pulled his penis from her mouth and stroked it as he shot a stream of cum onto her face. "Oh, yes, thank you, thank you, thank you..." She looked up at him, his cum running down her face, and smiled, "You're welcome," she said, then she rubbed her face against his swollen belly and reached for his hand, "move down a bit." He did as directed, moved down about two feet and she climbed on the bed above him, resting her arms on the headboard and she carefully straddled his face. "Like last time, but easier, like I showed you, OK?" She could hear his muffled agreement as she eased herself further onto his mouth and relaxing on her arms, she gently rode his face with the little shimmering movements that she knew would bring it on, slowly, exquisitely slowly. "Squeeze my tits, but gently and suck a little harder and bite at my lips a little ... yes, that's it, all along it, particularly at the bottom ... there, yes, right there." She was in no hurry, absolutely no hurry; she leaned on her arms and lost herself in the intimacy, reveled in the exquisite filth of his tongue probing deep within her pussy, knowing it was about to get filthier. On their second encounter, when she first insisted she do this, she had wondered where it had come from; she hadn't even dreamed of opening herself up to another's tongue. But when she lowered her pussy onto his face she felt so daring, so sexually naughty, so disgusting that within seconds she had her very first orgasm with a man, one that gushed from her in a stream of liquid that scared her, scared him. "A minute more," she could feel him getting impatient. She put more weight on his face but when she felt his hands leave her tits, she knew it was time, so she rose up on her knees as he pushed himself back and then she sat down again feeling his tongue push against her anus. When she first ordered him to do this, she had no idea if she would enjoy it and she had no idea if he would. But he did, hesitantly at first, just licking tentatively at her bud, as she demanded, but then a switched flipped in him and he pulled her onto his face with all his strength, pushing his tongue deep into her and he came, immediately, noisily, panting into her ass, not wanting her to move away, not wanting to leave the delights of her hole. It was over too fast that first time, so when they did it again, she told him to pinch himself, do anything he could to delay while she rode his face, fingering herself until she was ready and she gave him her permission. So she knew what to expect now. She opened her legs wider, fingered deeper and pushed harder at his face, feeling herself build, and build and when the moment was near she said, "OK!" and she could feel him sucking on her hole and she knew his hand would be on his prick, and she watched as the flood gushed from her, flooding his eyes, streaming over his face and soaking the sheets. She leaned on the headboard, resting for a moment, allowing the tremors to pass but when she tried to get up, he wouldn't let her, he held her against his face so she pushed down hard, angrily and he released her and she reached for the wet face cloth, scooted back onto his chest, rubbed the cloth against his face, then got off the bed and began to dress. He hadn't moved, but his eyes stared at her, watching her put on her panties, watching her bend down to catch her breasts in her bra, watching her pull up her skirt, put on her blouse and stuff her pantyhose in her purse. "I'm sorry for calling the police," she said, as she bent over and kissed his erect penis. "But don't you dare come by my place again. If you do, I'll call the police again and I will never ever come back here." She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "Do you understand?" He nodded stupidly and she left. The call came on Day 365: he was pleased to tell her that she had been the successful applicant; they were all looking forward to her joining the staff. And she was looking forward to joining the staff, too, about as much as she looked forward to announcing her imminent departure from her current staff, the one that, for the past three years, hadn't given her the time of day. Until recently, that is, until they began to notice her rapid weight loss; until they noticed she had become so attractive, so fashionable in her new wardrobe — and, increasingly, so confident. But it was anti-climatic. She wasn't mean spirited, wasn't vengeful, so when they gave her a little going away party on her last day, she accepted their well wishes, forgiving their contempt for the fat, quiet, hard worker she had been for all but the last few months of her employment. When it was over she asked Bill James to help her move her things to the taxi waiting at the curb. Bill was quite tall, very thin and terminally shy so when she asked him if he would have a drink with her in an hour he hesitated, painfully unsure of himself and he hadn't answered when she asked him for his home address. "See you in an hour," she said, as she closed the taxi door. She knocked on his door an hour and five minutes later and he opened it quickly and stood aside as she passed into his bright, nicely furnished home. And it was a home, she thought: it reflected the owner perfectly. It was clean, neat, a bit drab and the living room was lined with books. She studied the titles as he went to get her the white wine she had agreed to and when he handed her the glass she moved into him and lightly kissed him on the cheek. "I wanted to be with you tonight because I wanted to thank you for all your help." She took a sip of her wine. "You were the only one in that entire office that was kind to me while I was there and I wanted to thank you." When Bill blushed and nervously sipped his wine she put her glass on the table and said, "Would you show me around." He hesitated, "This is it. There's nothing much to see." "Sure there is," she said, then she walked over, poked her head into the small, tidy kitchen and then walked to the bedroom. The curtains were closed, it was very dark, so she opened them and when light flooded the space she wasn't surprised to see how immaculately neat the room was, with no clothes evident and the bed neatly made. She was sitting on the bed when he came in and it so surprised him that he seemed to freeze in the doorway. "I said I wanted to be with you. I said I wanted to thank you." She patted the bed beside her, "Come." But he didn't move, instead he stammered, "You don't have to thank me for anything." "I know. Come here." Her tone was demanding and when he sat on the bed it was as far from her as he could. "Are you afraid of me?" "No, of course not." "Don't you think I'm attractive." He didn't look at her, "Everyone thinks you've become beautiful," and when he heard his own words he hurried to correct himself, "I mean you always were beautiful but you've lost so much weight." "I've seen the way you look at me." Be blushed, and said nothing. She fell back and when she shifted her legs into the centre of the bed her skirt rose up. "Would you like to touch me? I'd like you to." "Why? Because I was nice to you?" "Yes." "I don't need a reward. I like you. You were nice to me, too." "I want to be nice to you now." "You don't have to do this." "I want to. Touch me." He shift to look at her. "Where?" She smiled at him and pulled him into her, "Wherever you want to." He slide towards her and slowly reached out and put a hand gently on her thigh and as he moved it slowly inward she opened her legs. "When I saw you starting to look at me, I decided I wanted this." He moved in more and was staring at his long fingers move onto her white nylon panties. "Everyone looks at you now." She squirmed at his touch and let out an encouraging moan, opening her legs a little more to him. "But only you were nice to me when I was fat." She could see he was beginning to breath harder so she moved into him and when she reached for his belt he cupped his long fingers on her sex, "That feels wonderful," she said, fumbling with this buckle. He shifted on the bed, making it easier for her to get at his pants, "Can I kiss you." She had his belt and button undone and when she lowered his zipper she could feel his intense erection. "Yes." He bent down and put his lips on her panties and kissed her, pressing hard at her sex. She lay there, watching him, watching him push at her legs to open her. She stroked his head, but only for a minute then she pulled away and gently pushed him down while she got off the bed. His pants came off easily, then she removed his underwear and was surprised to see that his penis was so much bigger then the only other one she had ever seen; it was twice as long and fatter, too. He was sprawled on the bed with his long legs dangling over the side. "Take off your shirt," she said, as she encouraged him to move his legs onto the bed. Then she quickly took off all her clothes and looked down at him, the bright light from the window glowing on her tight, white body. "Do you have much experience?" "None." "I don't have much either," she said as she bent down, taking his stiff, long penis in her fingers and licked its head, tasting the pre-cum that oozed down its entire length. She kneeled on the bed now and swung her leg over him and placed his prick at her entrance and slowly, fearfully, she lowered herself onto him, feeling the enormity of his member fill her, stretch her. It wasn't fully in when his low groans began and then the spastic jerking of his prick shot hot cum into her and she bent down and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you." More then her beauty, it was her self-confidence that created the aura that surrounded her. She seemed so composed, so sure of what she wanted that no one at the table was surprised when she squirmed out of the booth and took John Frederick's hand, pulling him to his feet while saying good night, "Thank you for the drink. See you all on Monday." And she thought of John while she lay on the bed, pushing herself into the fat, gently licking at his nipple and sucking at his skin. It had been awful, as awful as the night with Bill. Well, no, not awful, they had both been gentlemen, she just didn't feel anything; it had been so empty, so meaningless. She squirmed further into his fat, pushing her pussy into his leg, feeling herself built, slowly, inevitably. She took a quick look at the clock; she had just a few minutes before she had to get dressed, go home and change for work. She climbed onto him, her thin brown legs straddling his fat flaccid thigh and she sighed with the sexual rush that always came when she sank into him, feeling his fat between her legs as she put her lips gently on his breast and slowly rocked until the liquid came, until it gushed from her to fuse her to the leg that was pushing back at her, lifting her knees from the bed. She was standing by the bed when he said, "Will you wear them?" She bent down and kissed him on the cheek, "Of course." "Can I keep the others?" She smiled as she put on the bra and panties he had bought for her and when she was fully dressed, she bent down, gave him another peck on the cheek, carefully laying her bra and panties on the bed and quickly left. The new job was far more demanding then the other. She often had to work late, so she wasn't surprised when he called. "I can't come over tonight," but she could hear the desperation in his voice so she added, "Tomorrow, you come over here at 8 o'clock." She had been waiting by the window when he arrived so he didn't need to knock, the door was open and when he hesitated in the doorway she kissed him on the cheek, took him by the hand, led him into the living room and sat down beside him on the couch. "You will only come here when I invite you. Do you understand?" When he nodded, she rested her head on his chest and wrapped an arm across him. She spoke about five minutes later, "I want to bathe you." She helped him off with his clothes and when he climbed into the tub she sat on the side of it and gently rubbed his chest with a thin soft sponge. "Does this feel good?" He looked up at her and when he leaned in to her and kissed her on the breast through her blouse, she caressed his head, "I want to be good to you. I want you to want to come to me," then she got down on the floor on her knees, rolled up her sleeve and washed his entire body and when she was finished she scooped up his clothes and left the room. When she returned he was toweling himself so she helped him. She used a second towel to do his back, buttocks and legs and when she was done she turned him around, ignoring his erection, and, using a powder puff, she dabbed at his body, "Mother liked this," she said, as she circled him and when she finished she sat on the toilet seat and handed him a pair of white panties. "Put these on." He took them from her and without question put them on and she leaned into him and kissed the erection so visible behind the nylon. Then she led him to his mother's bed room. She watched him crawl onto the bed and when he was settled on top of the sheet she studied him for a moment before she pulled at his right leg to open it a little. Then she tucked the pillow under his head. When she began to take off her clothes she saw her reflection in the stand-up mirror. With her shirt and skirt off she stopped and for the first time in over a year she studied her reflection. It was almost all gone; all the weight she had imagined losing was almost gone and she could discern in herself the thin girl of her dreams; she was there, in the mirror. She slowly took off her bra and panties and stood still again, coolly evaluating her reflection. Yes, she was almost there, just a few more pounds and a lot more tan. When she turned to the bed he was watching her, "You're beautiful." She climbed onto the bed, kissing his stiff prick through his panties, "So are you." She snuggled into him, running her arm through a fold in the soft, wet skin of his belly and she placed her lips on his stiff pink nipple. "And you smell wonderful, too." As she caressed his penis through his panties, she could feel the build beginning. Finding The Comfort Zone "Please." The word was only whispered but it caused her to jump. She lay still for a moment before deciding and when she nodded her head against his chest, he rose up and as she got on her arms and knees he put the four pillows between her flat belly and the bed. He was kissing along her back when she eased herself down, resting her hips on the pillows. He maneuvered between her open legs kissing at her buttocks, taking little sucking bites on both cheeks, high near the smooth, shapely curve of the back and low to the hot wet creases of her groins and after a time she felt him gently forcing her cheeks apart. She knew this signaled a long wait while he studied her puckering anus, so much like a flower, like a brown chrysanthemum next to the white satin of her nearly hairless skin. She would feel his breath on her, first panting, then blowing at her bud and she held her breath and waited for the first drop of spit. The tongue was soon to follow and when it touched her he would groan loudly and his tongue and lips would quickly reach a frenzy as he probed deeper and deeper and sucked harder and harder until his moans became cries and he exploded in his panties. The rest is what she looked forward to. She lay still and open, resting her head on her arms as he slowly and methodically licked her ass and pussy, sucking at her sweat and juices. She knew he was doing this for her and he would continue until she closed her legs to him. As he lay back down beside her she snuggled into him again, bringing her lips to his breast and her hand to his panties, now soaked with cum. "Oh, mom, you're so wet. Can I? Please." He caressed her face as she fondled the soft wetness of his flaccid sex and when she crawled up and straddled his enormous leg she slowly road on him, rubbing her wet pussy as she sucked on his breast. It had always just taken a minute or so. They were exhausted now and when they shifted for sleep he leaned into her, just a little so she could feel his nipple on her lips. She would suck at it at night and in the morning her troubles would be gone. He came to her every time she called ... every time but once. I have to go away for five weeks, he had said, with no more elaboration so when he phoned to say he was back, she told him to come over. He had changed. When she asked to bath him he resisted, he would bathe later. Then he told her to wait five minutes before joining him in bed. But he was ready for her when she got there, she could see it in his face, in his open arms and when she lifted the sheet she could smell the sweet sent of her mother and she eagerly snuggled next to him forcing her body into his fat, feeling it fold onto her, smothering her. His arm was around her, as always and her legs were open, her pussy pushing into him. When she settled into the mattress and closed her eyes, her lips searched for the familiar nipple. Suddenly, she sprang onto her knees and tore off the sheet. She took a quick look then stared at him. His kind face stretched in a broad smile but he said nothing. Nor did she. Instead, she lay back down beside him and snuggled into him again, forcing her body into his fat, feeling it fold on to her, smother her as her lips searched for the nipple. She was sucking noisily and moaning while her pussy worked at his leg but after a few minutes she stopped, sat up, pulled down his panties, straddled him, eased his penis into her and looked down into his eyes, "Why?" "Because there is nothing I wouldn't do for you." She looked down at him and in pulling her body forward his penis fell from her and she kissed his lips, lingering, licking and biting him gently, then she shifted back down, sticking his sticky penis back into her. "They're beautiful." "Not yet," he said, caressing her hips. "I have to go back once more to make them the size I want." She bent down and kissed the stiff nipple on the wonderfully rounded breast. "You did this for me?" "I can strap them down when I go to work and I can have them removed when you send me away." She gently kisses and sucked at his nipple, then she pulled away and looked at him. "No. You will live her now. You will live with me. You will never have to take them out." She squirmed at his penis, feeling the hot cum gush into her then she lay on his chest, studying the breasts; they were so perfect, so much like the ones she remembered. Yes, just a little bigger, but only a little. He was partially limp and easily dropped out of her when she got up and went to the closet. When she returned she had a green garbage bag in her hand and she emptied it on the bed. She had taken everything to the shelter but the bras and panties ... they were just too intimate. She selected the bra on the top and handed it to him with a smile. He smiled back and sat up and when he put it on he couldn't get his hands behind him to do it up, so she helped him. She was beside him when he stood in front of the mirror in his yellow panties and blue bra. She leaned her nakedness into him, snuggling into his fat, watching her finger disappear into the thick folds of his belly. "Oh, God mom, we'll be so happy."