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Tourist Girl

I see her in the subway, sitting across and to the left from me, engrossed in a book. A large, curvy, soft-looking woman with big heavy breasts. Plump round face, pretty enough to be called beautiful, with a short, slightly upturned nose and big blue eyes behind the thin frame of glasses, pretty pink mouth, a mass of dark blond curls falling on her shoulders. She could be anything from her early twenties to early forties: plump faces like hers are slow to acquire wrinkles.

Serious expression combined with glasses makes her look older, but by the freshness of her skin and smoothness of her full lips I judge her to be in her late twenties. No ring on the finger. She is wearing a denim skirt; her round dimpled knees peek out from under it. Her legs are full, white and shapely.

She takes off her glasses to wipe them, and her face suddenly looks naked and vulnerable.

I decide that today she is going to be mine.

She looks too fresh, too composed and tranquil to be from around here. A big city imparts a certain look on its denizens, and she lacks it. All for the best. I look at her, not directly, but intently, imagining a thick transparent penis sliding in between her large thighs, in and out, in and out. It works often, I don’t know why, but it does.

After about five minutes, she starts biting her lips and squirming in her seat a little. She feels that she’s getting warmer and wetter, but she does not know why. I know.

She forgets about her book and starts daydreaming, her eyes glazing over, her lips slightly parted. I watch her.

She starts back into awareness, and looks around, puzzled and bewildered. Looks like she missed her stop.

Indeed, the train is entering a long stretch without any stops, and that will take her to a part of the city where no tourists go.

She stands up and walks up and down the car, giving me a chance to admire her wide hips and fat round ass. I decide that she is ripe for an approach, or else somebody else will notice that gorgeous plump specimen separated from the herd.

– Did you miss your stop, miss? – I enquire politely. Her face lights up: somebody in the cold heartless big city has finally noticed her plight.

– Yes, I did, – her voice is pleasant and melodious, I will enjoy hearing her cry out, – can you please tell me how to get back to my hotel? It’s on Thirty-second Street.

– That is really easy, – I smile, – this is the one-way express K train, that means you can’t take it back because it goes back by a different route, so what you want is get off in two stops, take the number 55 bus, go seven blocks east, then get the G train cross-town, change at Toten Pond to the H train and then get off and take the shuttle that replaces the Q train back to the 34th street.

I can see by her face that she lost me mid-sentence.

– Or, – I add, – you can just follow me for at least a part of the way, ’cause I am going in that direction myself.

– Oh thank you! – she exclaims and sits beside me. I smile at her and pat her affectionately on the arm. She does not mind. Good.

As we start talking, I continue touching her very lightly in safe places like arms and shoulders, getting her comfortable about me touching her.

We exit the subway and take the bus.

The bus takes us a goodly way away from her hotel, but she does not know that. I am set on her scent, and I am herding her farther and farther from familiar ground. I give her my hand when she is about to exit the bus. She takes it; her hand is small and soft in mine.

“What’s your name, by the way?” – I ask.

“Christine,” – she answers.

“A very pretty name for a very pretty woman,” – I say as I take her by the arm, – “would you like to have a cup of coffee, Christine?”

It would be rude to refuse at this point, and she accepts. We walk into a cafe, where I order her coffee and a piece of cheesecake, without asking whether she wants any. She accepts it.

Another gain for the hunter, another loss for the prey. She let me pay for her, and now she’ll feel that she owes me something, nice polite girl that she is.

I stare right at her, as she is eating her cheesecake. I am staring hard, as if she is taking her clothes off instead of just eating. I can see Christine’s both embarrassed and excited by my attention.

As we walk out of the cafe, I am holding her arm and she keeps glancing up at me and touching her hair.

“Where are we going now?” – she asks.

“You know what, Christine?” – I say, – “I live just around the corner. Let’s come up and see if my roommate is at home. If he is, I’ll borrow his car and give you a ride back to the hotel, how about that?”

She stops for a moment, breathing rather deeply and realizing that she has been hunted all this time, and now her hunter is ready to bag her.

This is the last moment when she can escape – but that would mean being left alone in the middle of an unfamiliar city.

“I guess we can,” – she says, unsure of whether this is wise. I put my arm around her shoulders and walk around the corner with her, feeling her start to tremble.

i am silent during the elevator ride, I am just staring at her, eyeing her up and down, undressing her with my eyes.

She is breathing deeply, not meeting my eyes, both turned on and scared. I can see her nipples harden and stand out even under her bra.

“Take off your shoes,” – I tell her when we come up to the apartment.

She obeys, taking off her sandals and standing barefoot on the carpet.

“Come,” – i say, taking her by the hand and leading her to the living room.

When in the room, I take off her jacket and toss it onto the chair.

She looks up at me as I stroke her cheek with my fingertips, trailing them along the jaw line, down the side of her neck, resting my hand on the back of her head. She parts her lips, knowing that this is inevitable.

I grab the back of her gorgeous hair, pull her head back, as my other hand cups her breast, brushing against her hard nipple.

She cries out in surprise, her hands flying up, trying to push me away, but I bear on her with all my weight, pinning her against the wall, leaning to lick her exposed white throat. I let go of her hair and grab her around the waist, pulling her close to me, all the while kissing and biting her between the neck and the shoulder. With my left hand I grab both her slender wrists and hold them above her head, and my right hand darts down between her knees, slides up her soft smooth thighs, unerringly finding its way to her fat, soft, squishy pussy.

Christine is all wet, as I knew she would be. She is still struggling, but it only serves to bump her hips against my hand that is groping her, probing and squeezing her softness through the thin fabric of her panties.

“Please…” – she manages to say in between panting and moaning, – “please, what are you doing? Please, we’ve just met. “

“I am getting into your panties, slut,” – I reply, doing just that, pushing the fabric aside to get to the soft hot wetness.

She moans with excitement and fear.

“Please… I am not…”

“Yes you are,” – I say, taking my wet hand from between her legs and seizing her face in it, squeezing her soft cheeks. She can smell herself on my hand, – letting a strange man pick you up in the subway, going to his apartment with him. Take your skirt off!

I give her cheek a light slap, not enough to hurt, just to embarrass and humiliate.

She gasps. She was probably never treated like this in her life, but I know that when she took off her glasses there in the subway, I saw a face of a natural born submissive.

Breathing heavily, she starts unzipping her skirt in the back. In the meanwhile I unbutton her blouse, and soon she is standing in front of me in bra and panties – simple white cotton, pure and innocent, just like Christine herself.

“Please,” – she breathes, – “please…”

She does not know what she wants to ask for, her mind in a confusing and disturbing place in between “please let me go”, “please fuck me now” and “please do whatever you want to me”.

“Panties too,” – i say, – “and the bra. ”

Her body is all I’d hoped it would be. Smooth, milky-white skin, long shapely legs with large soft thighs, wide hips, large breasts and a soft hanging belly.

She is not proud of it; she tries to cover herself with her hands, but they are too small to provide adequate cover.

“What a pretty slut,” – say I, looking her up and down. I pin her naked body against the wall again, and kiss her roughly and facefully, invading her mouth with my tongue, biting her lips, as my knee parts her thighs and presses hard against her pussy. She squirms and rubs her body against mine, giving herself to me.

But I am not done yet. I grab her hair and drag her down, making her kneel at my feet.

“Sit back on you heels, slut,” – i order, and she obeys. I take down my pants and slap her across the lips with it. She sits there, her cheeks red with embarrassment and excitement, lifting up her face for me to slap my dick on.

I start playing with her tits as I order her to suck my dick.

She hesitates for a moment, thinking that maybe if she won’t suck it, she won’t be a slut, that it’s all can go away somehow. I lean down over her back and give her a sharp smack on the ass.

“Suck it, you whore,” – I tell her as I grab a fistful of her hair and guide her mouth to my dick – “you cock-sucking fat slut. You are only good for two things, bitch, sucking cock and getting fucked, and you know it.

You are made to be fucked by guys like me. You met an hour and a half ago, and you are sitting here naked, and I am fucking your mouth, you nasty whore. “

She is moaning and grunting as I fuck her beautiful face, her soft fat on her upper arms and back jiggles as she gags and chokes on my dick. After a while I decide she’s had enough, and stand her up.

She is shivering and trembling, her face is flushed, as she tries to catch her breath. I turn her around and push her over to the couch, facing the wall. I start spanking her large white butt.

“This is what nasty sluts like you get when they go with strange guys to their apartments. They get naked, and spanked, and face-fucked, and worse. ”

Her ass cheeks jiggle and bounce, turning a nice shade of pink.

She is crying out prettily, and trying to say something between the yelps.

“What are you saying, bitch?” – I ask, pausing between two slaps.

“Mercy…” – she moans, – “please, have mercy…”

“Mercy is in short supply here, slut,” – I say as I slap her thigh, – “but I think I am ready to fuck you now. “

“Oh please,” – she breathes, and I slide a finger in her pussy to find it soaking wet.

“You want to get fucked?” – I ask, leaning over her and biting her on the shoulder, – “Tell me you want to get fucked, slut, and tell me what you are. “

She twists around to look at me, tears standing in her huge blue eyes.

“I am your slut and I need to get fucked,” – she says in a shaking voice, clearly for the first time, – “please fuck me.

I give her ass a few good slaps for a good measure and then stick my dick into her swollen, hot, moist pussy. That is the best pussy I’ve fucked in months, hot and oh so tight. Christine starts moving her large fleshy hips to meet my strokes. She is moaning, and as I start pounding her soft body, she starts screaming and arching her back.

“I like your slutty slobbery cunt,” – I tell her as I fuck her, – “there’s a good slut.

Are you a good slut for me?”

“I am a good slut,” – she manages to say in between moans and screams, and cums almost immediately, her whole body shuddering.

I continue fucking the lovely Christine, slapping her on the ass and thighs, pulling her hair, choking her and slapping her cheeks. When I get tired, I order her to get on top of me and fuck me, and she does, riding my cock as I slap her thighs and tits, and pinch her nipples.

She cums again like that.

She is lying down on the couch, exhausted and weak. I leave her there and walk out of the living room. Passing by my roommate’s door, I open it and peek in.

My roommate, a good friend of mine, a hairy Turk by the colorful name of Hassan Mustafa, is home, and has been listening to me fucking Christine all that time. We share the appreciation of fat feminine form, and we don’t mind sharing the fat girls we get into our beds.

I go to my room to take care of some things, and I hear Christine cry out in surprise and fear. Then I hear them talking, Hassan’s deep guttural voice calm and matter-of-fact; hers fearful and pleading. I’ve seen Hassan with my freshly fucked girls before, so I don’t have to look – she’s most likely sitting in the corner of the sofa, trying to hide her breasts and pussy from his eyes, and he, wearing nothing but Speedos and a coat of his own black body hair, casually puts her hand on her thigh or belly and talks about how he is going to fuck her.

He never takes no for an answer, either. Neither of us does.

Through the open door to my room I can see Hassan going into his room, leading a naked Christine after him by the hand, her head lowered. Then I hear moaning and screaming again.

“Oh yeah”, – I say to myself, – “Mustafa is going to fuck her in the ass whether she wants it or not. “

Two days later, we give Christine a ride back to the hotel.

She is going to return to her small town a changed woman.

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