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Big Hungry Woman

by Bill Noble

She barreled along the beach like a locomotive, the imprints of her feet stretching far back along the edge of the Pacific. Matt couldn't take his eyes off her. Geez, them quads! And them tits! Awesome! He pictured fucking a chick like that, tearing off the soaking-wet high-cut that barely covered her magnificence and plugging her.

She was at least his own height -- more than six feet -- and massive. Her trunk and shoulders were huge, her breasts outthrust towers of flesh, her belly as corded with muscle as his own, her pistoning thighs as thick as his torso. She had a dark face -- Polynesian maybe -- with broad, hungry lips, sculpted cheekbones, and oiled black hair that hung in a tangle of ringlets. She turned enormous dark eyes toward him as she passed. They flicked down over his long blond hair, his muscled body, the proud lump swung in his red thong. He gave her a sexy, swaggering grin and cocked his hips.

She wheeled back in a wide turn. Close up, she towered over him, took his breath away. She took his hand and, smiling, pulled him back toward an alcove in the cliffs. This wasn't the usual way babes hit on Matt, but he flashed her a foxy grin. Her hands were hot and sure as she leaned him back against the rock. She ran her fingers over his face, then over the knotted dragon newly tattooed on his shoulder. She pinched his nipples and palmed his pecs; his anus clenched suddenly and the sensation bulged through his perineum to tingle the tip of his cock. She ran fingernails down his belly, hooked fingers in the sides of his bathing suit and ripped the side-seams apart. The tatter of cloth dropped to the sand between their feet.

Her smile spread and spread. He thrust his purpley cockhead toward her crotch and reached for her giant boobs, but she knocked his hands aside. She wrapped one hand around his stiffy and grabbed his balls in the other, leaned her full weight against him, opened her mouth, kissed him. Matt had frenched babes, fucking them with his tongue till they struggled for air, but no chick had ever done him that way. Her mouth was hot and thickly wet. It smeared itself all over his face, and then her tongue probed him. It ran up under his lips, slid back and wrapped around his molars. It arched against his whole palate, then snaked under his tongue, twisted around it. He felt it reach back and hook his tonsils. She laughed a deep, long laugh right down his throat. Her nipples were twin .45s against his chest.

She pulled back and eyed him up and down.

"You're one hot chick," he wise-assed, trying to keep a sudden unanticipated tremble out of his voice. She broke into a monstrous smile again and licked one of his still-downy cheeks and then the other with the flat of her tongue. She whipped her bikini top off and pulled his head to her breast.

Her nipple had a faint sugary taste. It filled his mouth, her breast covering his whole face. A hot hand pumped his cock, razoring him right up to the edge of coming. He couldn't think straight, sucking one whistling breath after another through his nose, half-suffocated. He pulled away. "I'm Matt," he offered, trying to regain the initiative. "You from around here?" She laughed the same honey laugh again, welling it up from way down inside her, and pulled him onto the other breast.

She squeezed his balls till he squirmed, then slid her hand over his ass to run a long finger up into him. He felt a surge of anger, but when her pussy lips slicked over the head of his cock his protest died. He didn't seem to enter her, but her lips slithered along his whole length, enveloping him. She moved like a wave over his body, titanic, irresistible. She pulled his head up and kissed him again, her mouth at oven temperature. He breathed her breath, sweet, flower-scented, heavy with heat. She filled his lungs, then sucked the air back out of him. His cock racketed at the brink of detonation.

Matt's head whirled with pictures: the long-legged redhead and her mousy girlfriend that he'd done X with last Saturday, humping the two of them against a blur of surf-roar all night long; the blue-green pipe he'd run in last winter's big breakers; the kid who'd tried to suck his beery cock in the john of some bar. His hips were moving of their own volition. Inside her! I gotta be inside this chick!

The big woman pulled him a few steps back from the rocks, laid him on the warm sand and dropped full onto him. No, on top of her, he thought, I gotta fuck this chick, but it was too late. Hips locked between her steel thighs, his cock disappeared inside her. His head fell back. Her smile was blinding above the looming horizon of her breasts. Her eyes were bottomless. Her laughter churned his cock. She grabbed his hair and fucked him. Gigantically. All thought of resisting her vanished.

She fucked the air out of his lungs. Her come was tectonic, a tsunami of surges and belly laughs that milked him dry and left him screaming. Guys don't make cum noises, some corner of Matt's mind thought, but she studdered over him and he cried out again.

When she laughed, his spent cock squeezed out of her with a pop! She licked his face again, bit his lip with her white, strong teeth, then slid up until her dripping pudendum scooped over his face. She began to fuck his mouth and nose.

Matt had never eaten pussy -- oral sex is for chicks -- but now he did. Her taste, her smells were meaty -- fertile smells that flooded his brain stem. He licked. He lapped. He gobbled her juices, flailed his face back and forth across her thick lips and straining clit. In the moments his mouth found air he panted and howled. His heels spurred the sand. His cock, loaded again, wet and red, slapped side to side against his thighs.

As she climaxed again and then again over Matt she ground harder and harder against his face. Wait, wait! Her vagina gaped and his face sank to the ears in her. He tried to shout, tried somehow to suck air into his lungs. She thrust again. His head popped inside her. Heat. Wet, massive muscle. Darkness.

Her movements were tidal now, her laughter a huge resonant chord inside her body. Matt's arms flailed wildly in the air, fingers clutching at nothing.

She pushed harder. One shoulder slipped inside. Again, and both arms were pinned to his sides. Help me! The heat and meaty slipperiness reached the line of his nipples, then his hips. His crimson-headed cock was jacked straight down between his legs, peeping between his vibrating thighs as her lips enveloped his ass. His feet kicked in frenzy as she enveloped his thighs. Help! She grunted and pushed harder, head thrown back, huge eyes rolling up in ecstasy. Ropy loops of come flung out of his straining cock.

She rose to her knees, holding her breasts to the sun. Tidal surges of pleasure sucked him in to the knees, past the shins. Finally, only the crinkled, pleading soles of his feet and his frantically wriggling toes showed. She rumbled in deep satisfaction Helpas his toes fumbled her heavy, hooded clit.

She rose to her feet. She arched her back. She stroked her belly. Her immense dark eyes opened again to sea and sky. Satisfied. Hungry. The last pink remnants of Matt winked out of view between her legs (help).

The sun dropped toward the ocean. A surf board and a twist of red cloth lay on the sand. The woman dwindled down the beach, her elongated shadow rippling and dancing over sand and seaside cliffs. Even from a distance, you could see she was a big woman.

©1998 by Bill Noble

Bill Noble is a fiction writer and poet who can just glimpse San Francisco from the highest ridges above his home. He's firmly convinced that sex, like love and the fate of the world, is too important to be left to Republicans. He invites you to make sweet love, and to vote.




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