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And as the title of the old movie goes, “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
The big main building was devoted to a small entry area with a reception desk and a sort of lounge area with a few overstuffed chairs and coffee tables. Very much like a hotel lobby. One door led into a big dining room and another into a large game room. A very professional kitchen took up the back quarter of the building.
“What is capacity?” I asked.
He chuckled and said, “24, and we have a six-month waiting list.”
So I did the quick mental math. 24 at $2,000 a week was $48,000 a week for 52 weeks a year making it about $2.5 million a year. That made the $120,000 I would make reasonable, even if he did match me for a good chunk into retirement.
“How many staff?” I asked.
“Cook is the most expensive,” he said with a grin, “our girls deserve to eat well. Two kitchen assistants, a couple of clean-up boys, and two other counselors. The guys tend to be college students glad for a part-time gig that pays room and board and pussy and are happy to settle for $25,000 a year.”
“Guys?” I said.
“Yep,” he said, “young, dumb, and full of cum, and every one a chubby chaser.”
I was laughing when he said, “Loretta, bring your big beautiful self over here and meet my new right-hand man.”
The redhead who responded wasn’t naked. Well, not quite. She had on a pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs that left about half of the bottom of each oversized ass cheek on display. But that was all she had on and an immense pair of pillow boobs, with nipples so pale the only way you saw them was the difference in shape, swinging free.
She had on a pair of platform sandals that did interesting things for her walk and her big pale body moved in an interesting sequence of sways and jiggles.
He took her hands and kissed her. Not a simple greeting kiss either. A serious, we’re-going-to-bed kiss, leaving her a little breathless and bringing some color to her pale cheeks.
“Loretta,” he said, “meet Dave, Dave, Loretta.”
She turned to me and fixed a pair of striking blue eyes on mine.
As Jeannie had done, she took my hand, turned it over, and kissed it.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Greg stage whispered, “Dave, we encourage open displays of affection and interest.”
Not being completely stupid even if a bit overwhelmed, I put my hands on her shoulders, stepped close enough that the softness of her boobs pressed against my shirt, and kissed her. Hard.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, my hands exploring her back and waist.
She giggled and Greg said, “now off to your class.”
She turned, gave me a very coquettish over-the-shoulder final look, and headed off. I thought she just had to practice that walk to get that much swing in such a big ass.
“And who is THIS?!” a breathy voice asked behind me.
I turned and the grey-haired nude woman I had seen on arrival was standing there.
Up close she was so damn cute you just wanted to pick her up and cuddle her. A round face, apple cheeks, button nose, cupid bow mouth. All in all, you expected this to be what Santa Claus came home to after a hard night of delivering goodies.
“Cleo, meet Dave, Dave, Cleo,” Greg said.
She stepped up and molded herself to me, looking up with her neck bent dramatically, she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. She reached up with both hands behind my neck and pulled me down into a kiss.
And it was a GREAT kiss. Her lips were soft and warm and moist and her tongue was a living thing wanting to explore inside my mouth all of the way to where my tonsils had once been. Her hips were rocking gently and she made a soft humming sound deep in her throat that awakened something deep in my brain down where Kartal Escort the lizard started it all.
She broke the kiss, smiled, said, “I hope to see you later,” and walked away.
I was breathless.
“And,” Greg said, “that woman wouldn’t meet your eyes when she came here six weeks ago.”
I ostentatiously adjusted my erection.
“Is it always like this?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “We make women feel beautiful and desirable because we desire them and think they are beautiful. In fact, that is the central part of our job. Everything else is just window dressing.”
“So what are the rules?” I asked, still a bit overwhelmed.
“Forget how to utter the word ‘no,'” he said.
I raised my eyebrows, silently asking the question.
“Yes,” he said, “anything one of the girls wants, she gets.”
“Anything?” I asked.
“Yes, anything,” he said.
I didn’t say anything for a minute, just contemplating.
He chuckled and said, “come on. The timing couldn’t be better. We have an intake to handle. But that’s not for a couple of hours, so go make one of the girls smile.”
I was still in a bit of a daze but I didn’t need more encouragement. I went in search of the lovely Cleo.
I found her in the lounge, nibbling on a Cinnamon Danish, sipping tea, and reading, of all things, Robert Heinlein’s Number of the Beast.
There was soft music playing over the PA system, not the insipid crap you hear on hold or in an elevator. This was a mix tape someone had put a lot of thought into. It would have been at home in a high-end brothel.
As Elvis Presley finished up Hawaiin Wedding Song Julie London’s incomparable Cry Me A River started up.
I tapped her shoulder lightly and said, “may I have this dance?”
Her answering smile was cherubic.
She stood and I finally took the time to really look at her. And she was worth looking at. That round face was cute rather than pretty. For the first time in my life, I thought the cliche “twinkling blue eyes” fit a real human being. She had a button nose, generous cupid’s bow mouth, tiny ears, and that lovely cap of curly silver hair. The fine wrinkles around her eyes showed her age.
Moving down her body, she had three distinct chins, and round shoulders, and those beautiful heavy bags of fat behind her upper arms that wobbled fetchingly. Her breasts were heavy, my pretty reliable eye estimated a D-cup. Her nipples were big, her areolas were bigger, and all were a very dark milk chocolate brown. Her belly caught my eye, three distinct rolls with a very deep belly button crease begged to be squeezed, so I squeezed it gently. The bottom roll was big enough to give her that fat girl’s natural modesty.
I held still for a few seconds and then caught the beat and we stepped off into a simple two-step. My hand on her back found the soft pad of fat high on her back and I thought, not for the first time, there really is nothing sexier than a truly fat girl’s back.
My hand slipped lower and she made a soft humming sound as I cupped her ass.
“Would you like to come up to my place for a nightcap,” she asked, with a giggle. I liked her giggle, a cute, very girlish sound.
“I would very much like that,” I said.
She didn’t hesitate, just took my hand and led me out the front door and down to her building. I learned, later, that there were four of these buildings, more or less identical, with six apartments each
We had barely cleared the door when she had her arms around my neck, pulling me down into a serious kiss.
She was a good kisser. No, that’s an understatement. She was a great kisser. She convinced me, as we kissed, that her entire attention was focused on me, that nothing could Tuzla Escort ever distract her, that we were the only two people in the world right then.
Her lips were soft but demanding. Her tongue was a live thing, probing my mouth. Her hands roamed my back, cupped my ass, and rubbed my back some more.
“How may I please you?” I managed after she broke the kiss.
She smiled and then the smile turned into a grin. A wolfish grin at that, odd on her angelic face.
“You really want to know?” she asked, one eyebrow raised, emphasizing the question.
I nuzzled the softness of her second chin and hissed a soft, “yessss.”
“You could get to your knees and give me a good old American blow job,” she said, the crudity of her language out of place coming from her cute gramma’s round face.
I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees and kissed her belly, tracing each of those creases with my tongue, burying my face for a few seconds in the deep crease of her navel but unable to probe all of the way to the bottom with my tongue, and then working lower.
When I lifted the softness of her belly apron I saw that she was one of those fat women who, after a certain age, had their mons veneris, that beautiful Mound of Venus, fill with fat cells and hang, loose. Her labia were soft, hanging free, and the slit of her vagina was smooth. I opened my mouth, wide, and covered that tempting soft bag of flesh, wanting to give her what she wanted.
She giggled again as I allowed the roll of her belly apron to settle on the top of my head, freeing my hands to cup her ass.
As I started probing with my tongue, working past the deep canyon of her vaginal entry, seeking her clitoris deep under the heavy protection of her clitoral hood her breath started to catch, and her hands settled onto my shoulders for balance.
I enjoy oral sex, both giving and receiving, and I think I’m good at it. It sure worked on her that morning.
My neck was bent back, almost painfully, in that position any man understands if he has pleased a woman while on his knees. My mouth was wide open, taking in as much of the soft flesh of her nether lips as I could and sucking gently, my tongue probing and finding the hard little button of her clitoris, flicking it as her excitement ran into my mouth and I swallowed greedily.
I could feel the tension building in her ass as I cupped it, supporting her, helping her keep her balance, as I sucked, almost nursed at her pussy.
I felt her body go suddenly rigid and then sag with her release and my mouth was suddenly full of the salty, tangy nectar of her release.
I yelled when her fingers, entwined in my hair, twisted and pulled, hurting as her body tensed in another wave of ecstasy.
She held me like that, my face buried in her labia, those fat pads slick and wet, covering my cheeks, smothering me with her warmth and her pleasure. I couldn’t breathe but I had no desire at all to escape. This felt, well, good. Too good risk losing. So I held my position until I felt my body starting to panic as the oxygen in my blood ran out and I couldn’t replenish it the way my face was buried in her.
I was trembling, no, that’s too gentle a word.
I was shuddering, my body panicking, when she finally pulled my face free, those fingers in my hair still holding me tight.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked, looking down at me with that cherubic smile.
I gasped a breath, feeling the panic recede.
“I think you are adorably cute,” I said, being honest.
She giggled at that and said, “Okay, that’ll do.”
The pressure on my hands told me she wanted me to stand so I stood.
“Okay, baby,” she said, still smiling, “you’ve done your duty, Anadolu Yakası Escort now wash your face and you can go.”
I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her.
“It’s never a ‘duty’ with a beautiful woman,” I said.
She was looking up at me and I thought I saw her eyes starting to well up.
So I kissed her again, my hands exploring her back, pulling her to me. In other words, showing her my desire with my actions, not my words.
And she responded. Her breathing got ragged as my hands found soft rolls and squeezed, not hard, but what I thought of as lovingly.
“Oh my,” she breathed, softly.
Now tears were streaking her cheeks.
“I still have trouble,” she said, and then sniffled, breaking her speech.
“I still have trouble,” she started again, “believing all of this.”
I kissed her cheeks, tasting tear salt, and then her mouth, tasting snot salt, and kissed her neck just below her ear.
“You are beautiful,” I said and she giggled at that and said, “bullshitter, you said I was cute.”
I laughed then, pushed her away enough to meet her eyes, and said, “this,” and I brushed my fingertips across her forehead and cheeks, “is cute, my round little cherub, but this,” and I ran my hands down her body, grabbing a double handful of belly fat and then waistfat, “is beautiful.”
She started to say something but I shushed her with a fingertip to her lips.
“This,” I said, lifting the soft fat pads on the backs of her arms, “is beautiful.”
I shushed her again,
“These fat little fingers,” I said, taking each into my mouth in turn and sucking gently, “are beautiful.”
I shushed her this time with a kiss.
“You are beautiful,” I said, my lips brushing her ear, “and I want you. Will you have me?”
She looked up at me and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Cleo,” I said, grabbing another snotty kiss, “you’re even cute when you cry.”
“Oh, God,” she said softly, but she took my hand and led me to her bed.
I went to the clock radio she had on her headboard and found a station playing some soft rock. As Linda Ronstadt’s version of Blue Bayou started I began a strip tease for her, taking my time, wanting to make a good show for her.
She giggled and whistled as I finished, pushing down my boxers and kicking them to her.
She caught them and held them to her face, sniffing theatrically.
As I watched, she spread her legs, lifting her knees a little in that way truly fat women do. The slightly darker half moons of skin at the tops of her thighs where they rubbed together with each step were very much on display, along with the big fat pads of her labia. She was so smooth that I assumed there were lasers and chemicals involved and it was permanent.
So I kissed her between the legs, enjoying the thick, almost leathery feel of those half moons and then the taste and scent of the rest of her before I moved forward and entered her, missionary style so I could see her face and kiss her as we made love.
And it WAS making love.
I took my time and when I felt her first orgasm I told her she was beautiful.
When I felt her second I told her I loved her and that brought a third immediately.
“Say it back,” I said.
“David,” she said, her voice plaintive.
“Say it back,” I said again, “or I’ll stop.”
“Oh God,” she sort of moaned.
“Okay,” I said, and stopped my rhythm and started pulling slowly out.
“No,” she moaned again.
“Say it,” I said.
Her eyes met mine and she took a deep breath.
“I love you,” she said.
“Like you mean it,” I said, holding still.
And something changed in her eyes. She arched her back, pushed her pelvis forward, wrapped those fat legs around me, her heels digging into my ass, and whispered, “I love you,” and I knew, way down at the brain stem level, that she meant it.
I took her through two more orgasms before I finished, deep inside her, with her crying, “yessssssss, fill me up!”
BEST JOB EVER!!!
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