Zaftig SocietyChapter 3
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Zaftig SocietyChapter 2 free porn video
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 does not attend, but when the night of the party comes, she can't help thinking about it ... and pleasures herself.
Doreen was in a store on the other side of town, which she had never visited before. No one knew her there, or seemed especially interested in her as she shopped for a dress ... a dress that would accentuate her curves and bulk as much as everything she currently owned did its best to hide them.
What did she need such a dress for? She told herself that it was just, well, time to start feeling better about her body. But why did she feel the need to feel like this now, at this moment in her life? Where did she plan to go, who did she hope to be seen by? These were things she could not answer, or would not, even to herself.
She settled on a wine-colored dress in a subtly shiny material, which draped well over her curves but also had strategically-placed gatherings of material which created curves of its own. The result framed her curves, but obscured the precise shape of her form. It left you wanting to see more ... if Doreen's figure was something you might want to see more of in the first place. Which she was not convinced would be the case for any man.
She went home, and when she got there she opened her desk and pulled the invitation out from its discreet spot under a box of checks. She looked at it idly, at the rough and indistinct sketch at its top that she now could only see as a naked female, a fat, bounteous one. If she had thrown the invitation away in the kitchen, it would have been long gone, but by chance she had tossed it into the rarely-used basket on the other side of her counter by the telephone, where it had sat for weeks before she fished it out. The second of the three dates and places listed on it was Friday.
She refused to think about what would really happen there, because to do so would be to ... what? To be a slut. To do unspeakable things with strangers. To abandon everything about who she was. She was a person of a certain age and position in life and she would no more ... with a man she didn't know than she would rob a bank.
But then there was the dress she had bought. Why? What use would she ever have for such a dress? To be buried in and give them one last surprise, she thought bitterly. Or first surprise, rather.
She had a sudden urge to try it on, even though she had seen it on her body barely an hour before. She took it out of its box and put it on a hanger and hung it up, letting it unfold. Then she pulled her blouse up over her head. The body she saw— white bra that screamed function over sexiness, pale flesh, rolls of soft flesh— was not one that she expected anyone to be wildly attracted to. And yet, evidently someone— a whole society— was.
She shimmied her pants over her round hips and butt, and stood there now in white, featureless underwear, wisps of curly black hair around the edges. Suddenly she had a wish she had bought some other kind of undergarments, something that didn't look like a plaster bandage but accentuated her round body. This was where the problem would come, if she did what of course she would not do— once the dress came off, everything under it would take the steel out of the men, so to speak.
A mischievous thought came over her. There was another choice. She unsnapped her bra and tossed it aside, letting her big flat breasts flop out. Then she slipped the utilitarian underwear off. This was her— white, lumpy, marked with the imprints of tight-fitting undergarments.
She took the dress off its hanger and slipped it over her head, shaking and wriggling to get it on, letting it drape and find its shape again. She looked in the mirror and suddenly— her breath was taken away. The dress had looked good enough when she was in it in her sturdily-structured bra, but now it curved with the shape of her breasts, the roundness of her hips. Before it helped hide her shape, now it ... accentuated it. Made you desire the breasts that filled it out, the nipples that jutted out under it, the way it shook and rolled with her form.
And she felt underneath the absence of underwear. The secret that her innermost place was there, waiting to be found and taken. She felt along her leg and began drawing the skirt upward, until she saw the thicket of dark hair. She stood with her legs apart and rubbed the center of her patch of fur, as it began to spread with her moistness. Her finger ran along the now-wet slit, slipped inside her. She imagined someone else doing this to her, feeling his way up her dress and spreading her legs apart, her lips apart, and then a rough cock forcing its way into, her shuddering as she was plowed with one thrust after another...
She came for the first time in her new dress. Carefully she pulled her hand out and let the fabric fall, then wiped off her fingers before pulling it over her head again.
She parked a block away and then walked to the large Colonial home in wealthy Belle Plaine. Each heartbeat pounded in her ears; every tottering step in her heels seemed to pitch the world off balance. Was she really going to do this? It seemed impossible, mad— and then she grabbed the brass knocker and rapped it, once timidly, the second time firmly. In a moment the door opened and an older man dressed as if for boating smiled graciously at her and said, "We are so pleased that you accepted our invitation. Do come in..."
... she sat on a barstool as a bartender with a face as impassive as a photograph of the long dead made her a vodka and tonic. She sipped it hurriedly through the plastic stirrers. There were only a handful of people in the living room, a couple sitting closely on a sofa, a couple of older men talking by the bookshelves. This was, to her, more horrible than if a full-fledged orgy had been happening in front of her; so few meant everyone would know what you were doing, no anonymity in the crowd. She thought of leaving, but before she could put the thought into action there was another gentleman of expensively conservative dress at her side.
Cheryl
- 12.01.2021
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