fionabrown
04-12-2004, 11:12 PM
He walked up to the door. He was excited and trembling. He'd nearly not come at all.
The advert had been on the net - Nasty BBW Mistress. She'd been favourable in his emails, what he wanted would be no problem. As long as he had cash.
He'd emailed her asking her to sit on his face. To tie him up, sit back and relax, making sure he could breathe. All night, full weight, with short breaks to make sure he was OK.
He'd especially asked her to be unwashed and unclean - sweaty and wet in her big ass crack, slick and ready for his face. No problem.
Now he was at the door, ringing the buzzer, heart pounding in his chest.
He could hear footsteps inside. 'Here goes' he thought. The door being unlocked. His mind doing cartwheels. Then the door opening, and there she was.
She stood with her back to doorframe. A huge woman with an unfriendly, unwelcoming and hard face. Maybe he was at the wrong place? She wasn't wearing much though. A red t-shirt, straining to contain her huge stomach which hung down below it, over her thighs. Her breasts squashed in place inside the t-shirt. Thick thighs and a huge ass sticking out behind her, held by sad grey panties. He shuddered - partly with excitement, hope and fear.
'What?' she barked.
'I'm - Ian. I emailed.'
'Come in then' - she pointed at the door at the end of the corridor. He squeezed past her - she was so fat, and so very wide. He walked ahead of her and heard her locking the door.
The corridor was dark and dingy. He entered the room at the end. Curtains closed, dim light. Dark carpet. Tables covered in glasses and mess. Old TV. Old brown armchair and sofa with wooden armrests and handcuffs hanging from the armrests on the armchair.
The door opened behind him and she stepped in. Butterflies of excitement in his stomach. She stuck out her hand, and he rummaged for the £250. He handed it to her and was about to speak, but she took the money and left the room.
She was away for ages it seemed. 1 minute? 5 minutes? An hour? Where had she gone with his money? He could hear sounds from outside. He sat on the floor, in front of the armchair, and put his head back onto the squashy foam velour cushion, and imagined.
Then footsteps, as she came back in. Sideways through the door - was she really too wide to fit? Shit. Doubts in his mind. In a daze, she was locking his wrists into the handcuffs. His whole body felt weak. She went away again.
He watched her go this time. Yes, each huge buttock - round fat or muscle? Each one much bigger than his head, held losely by the dirty looking panties. Maybe even wider than his chest.
He waited again. Noises from the kitchen, he thought. He noticed the dingy smell in the room. Cigarette butts in the ashtray. Clothes in the corner. A cupboard, slightly open, revealing a large black strap on. He shuddered.
Then footsteps again, and the door swung open. She wasn't so tall, but was still above him. She walked over to him, in front of the armchair, and stepped towards him. Her massive belly right in front of his face. Not a word spoken.
She turned around, and now that huge ass in front of him. But she was still wearing those panties, he could see stains and sweat marks around the buttocks. He could smell them from here. Smell her.
She reached down to the side and he heard the TV come alive. She took a couple of steps from side to side, and slowly pushed his face back with her bottom. She was meant to be naked, and he was about to tell her, but the pushing continued.
The buttocks effortlessly pushed him back and then he found himself facing up and being pushed down towards the seat cushion. Then back into the cushion. The cloth of the panties was damp and sticky and stank like hell. He didn't like it. He tried to look to the side, but the buttocks - still slowly moving downwards - were moulding themselves around his cheeks. His whole face was being enveloped in filthy panties, massive buttocks and immense weight.
The downward movement carried on inexorably. Her legs were strong, and she held herself, intentionally moving back slowly.
Her weight began to press his head into the cushion, and in between her buttocks. The pressure increased dramatically, and she slowly sat back on his face. She was enjoying this, she didnt like this naive little fucker. Time to show him.
She let her weight drop as she kicked out her legs and sat back. Full weight on his face.
Slam! He thought she had been sitting back when POW! The pressure increased ten fold in an instant. He was now entirely compressed within her buttocks, against the soft foam cushion. He couldnt see, or breathe, or think. The weight seemed to be increasing every nanosecond. And he couldnt breathe.
She had sat fully over his face, trapping his mouth. The fat of her thighs over his neck and chest. She could feel him try to move - an almost imperceptible murmur below her. She wondered how long he'd last under her like this. She knew he must be panicking. She flicked channels.
She stretched out her legs and planted her feet on his thighs. Leaning forwards slightly, she demonstrated the pressure she could exert with her feet. He noticed, but only at the back of his mind. His asphyxiation, and compressed face, were occupying his whole mind. Her weight seemed to be driving back. He didn't like it at all.
She moved her foot over to his crotch. Nothing. She grinned. She placed both feet square over his most sensitive and private areas. She leaned forwards again, hoping to trap and crush his testicles, to elicit a reaction. The straining against the handcuffs continued, and he kicked his legs in desperation.
She laned back again, and placed her legs on the floor. She lifted herself off his face, rising fairly quickly. His face was released from between the deep cleft of her buttocks. She lifted her bottom higher. The panties were stuck firmly to his face. They peeled off suddenly with a cracking sound. She stood up and removed them, listening to his gasping and panic.
'Quiet'
She parted her buttocks, revealing the sheen of sweat. Her whole buttocks were slick, but between them was dark and oily. She sat down quickly, almost as if he wasnt there. This time, she sat back, heavily, and his chin was exposed. He could breathe. He didn't utter a sound.
She relaxed, and stretched out her legs on top of him. At the first squeak from him, she slammed her thighs together, shutting him up. After a few seconds, she opened wide, to hear his gasping. Evertime she heard any voice, she repeated this action. He got the message.
f
mstrsfiona@yahoo.co.uk
The advert had been on the net - Nasty BBW Mistress. She'd been favourable in his emails, what he wanted would be no problem. As long as he had cash.
He'd emailed her asking her to sit on his face. To tie him up, sit back and relax, making sure he could breathe. All night, full weight, with short breaks to make sure he was OK.
He'd especially asked her to be unwashed and unclean - sweaty and wet in her big ass crack, slick and ready for his face. No problem.
Now he was at the door, ringing the buzzer, heart pounding in his chest.
He could hear footsteps inside. 'Here goes' he thought. The door being unlocked. His mind doing cartwheels. Then the door opening, and there she was.
She stood with her back to doorframe. A huge woman with an unfriendly, unwelcoming and hard face. Maybe he was at the wrong place? She wasn't wearing much though. A red t-shirt, straining to contain her huge stomach which hung down below it, over her thighs. Her breasts squashed in place inside the t-shirt. Thick thighs and a huge ass sticking out behind her, held by sad grey panties. He shuddered - partly with excitement, hope and fear.
'What?' she barked.
'I'm - Ian. I emailed.'
'Come in then' - she pointed at the door at the end of the corridor. He squeezed past her - she was so fat, and so very wide. He walked ahead of her and heard her locking the door.
The corridor was dark and dingy. He entered the room at the end. Curtains closed, dim light. Dark carpet. Tables covered in glasses and mess. Old TV. Old brown armchair and sofa with wooden armrests and handcuffs hanging from the armrests on the armchair.
The door opened behind him and she stepped in. Butterflies of excitement in his stomach. She stuck out her hand, and he rummaged for the £250. He handed it to her and was about to speak, but she took the money and left the room.
She was away for ages it seemed. 1 minute? 5 minutes? An hour? Where had she gone with his money? He could hear sounds from outside. He sat on the floor, in front of the armchair, and put his head back onto the squashy foam velour cushion, and imagined.
Then footsteps, as she came back in. Sideways through the door - was she really too wide to fit? Shit. Doubts in his mind. In a daze, she was locking his wrists into the handcuffs. His whole body felt weak. She went away again.
He watched her go this time. Yes, each huge buttock - round fat or muscle? Each one much bigger than his head, held losely by the dirty looking panties. Maybe even wider than his chest.
He waited again. Noises from the kitchen, he thought. He noticed the dingy smell in the room. Cigarette butts in the ashtray. Clothes in the corner. A cupboard, slightly open, revealing a large black strap on. He shuddered.
Then footsteps again, and the door swung open. She wasn't so tall, but was still above him. She walked over to him, in front of the armchair, and stepped towards him. Her massive belly right in front of his face. Not a word spoken.
She turned around, and now that huge ass in front of him. But she was still wearing those panties, he could see stains and sweat marks around the buttocks. He could smell them from here. Smell her.
She reached down to the side and he heard the TV come alive. She took a couple of steps from side to side, and slowly pushed his face back with her bottom. She was meant to be naked, and he was about to tell her, but the pushing continued.
The buttocks effortlessly pushed him back and then he found himself facing up and being pushed down towards the seat cushion. Then back into the cushion. The cloth of the panties was damp and sticky and stank like hell. He didn't like it. He tried to look to the side, but the buttocks - still slowly moving downwards - were moulding themselves around his cheeks. His whole face was being enveloped in filthy panties, massive buttocks and immense weight.
The downward movement carried on inexorably. Her legs were strong, and she held herself, intentionally moving back slowly.
Her weight began to press his head into the cushion, and in between her buttocks. The pressure increased dramatically, and she slowly sat back on his face. She was enjoying this, she didnt like this naive little fucker. Time to show him.
She let her weight drop as she kicked out her legs and sat back. Full weight on his face.
Slam! He thought she had been sitting back when POW! The pressure increased ten fold in an instant. He was now entirely compressed within her buttocks, against the soft foam cushion. He couldnt see, or breathe, or think. The weight seemed to be increasing every nanosecond. And he couldnt breathe.
She had sat fully over his face, trapping his mouth. The fat of her thighs over his neck and chest. She could feel him try to move - an almost imperceptible murmur below her. She wondered how long he'd last under her like this. She knew he must be panicking. She flicked channels.
She stretched out her legs and planted her feet on his thighs. Leaning forwards slightly, she demonstrated the pressure she could exert with her feet. He noticed, but only at the back of his mind. His asphyxiation, and compressed face, were occupying his whole mind. Her weight seemed to be driving back. He didn't like it at all.
She moved her foot over to his crotch. Nothing. She grinned. She placed both feet square over his most sensitive and private areas. She leaned forwards again, hoping to trap and crush his testicles, to elicit a reaction. The straining against the handcuffs continued, and he kicked his legs in desperation.
She laned back again, and placed her legs on the floor. She lifted herself off his face, rising fairly quickly. His face was released from between the deep cleft of her buttocks. She lifted her bottom higher. The panties were stuck firmly to his face. They peeled off suddenly with a cracking sound. She stood up and removed them, listening to his gasping and panic.
'Quiet'
She parted her buttocks, revealing the sheen of sweat. Her whole buttocks were slick, but between them was dark and oily. She sat down quickly, almost as if he wasnt there. This time, she sat back, heavily, and his chin was exposed. He could breathe. He didn't utter a sound.
She relaxed, and stretched out her legs on top of him. At the first squeak from him, she slammed her thighs together, shutting him up. After a few seconds, she opened wide, to hear his gasping. Evertime she heard any voice, she repeated this action. He got the message.
f
mstrsfiona@yahoo.co.uk