On this particular Thursday, I walked into my driveway and glanced toward the mailboxes on the boulevard. Mine and the neighbor lady’s happened to be next to each other. I unlocked the house door, then returned out and made way to the mailbox. I noticed the neighbor pulling in. She killed the car and stepped out, heading directly to the box.
“Hey, neighbor,” she said, grinning. I said hi back. She collected her mail. She walked back to her door and inside. She paused, sorting the mail. She tossed it to her kitchen counter and returned outside, walking back over to me. I was just completing collecting my stuff. She was grinning again.
“I gotta be sure this gets inside,” I said.
“I’ll walk with you,” she decided.
We set off. She walked even with me, and I stole brief glances at her in addition to paying attention to my path back to the front door. I realized she was maybe a few years older than I first guessed. We made the door and I duplicated her sorting process. I stepped back outside, pulling the door mostly closed.
“If I requested dinner and a movie tomorrow night, would you say yes?” the woman asked me.
She had just walked over and asked me on a date, near as I could tell. “How often does a date happen that easy?” I asked in return.
“It’s for real,” she assured me, laughing..
“I’ll have to accept, since there’s a first time for everything,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“I’m cooking. The movie is on the house, too,” she told me. We hashed some things out and she told me to come knocking around six tomorrow night. We went our separate ways. I didn’t sleep overly deeply that night, even after a shower and TV.
My day job as a proofreader for a local newspaper wasn’t glamorous, but the bills got paid. I planned to ask the lady what her days were filled with during dinner tonight. I was still wondering what about me it was that had drawn her attention, and prompted her invitation. Or whether she thought I’d be a good candidate for some things she might have in mind.
Upon leaving work, walking back toward home, I picked up a fruit assortment at a nearby produce vendor. I showered and changed into more casual clothes. I wandered to the neighbor lady’s house at six sharp and knocked on the door.
It opened, and the lady in question grinned at me and told me to come in. I entered, and was immediately met by the smell of cooking food. I smelled something in the oven, and took a matter of seconds to realize the main course was in a crockpot on the counter. It smelled like some variety of chicken. The oven probably had potatoes and maybe some bread baking. It was one of those dual-oven appliances, so a person could cook two foods at once, at different temperatures.
I stood in the kitchen. To my immediate right was the living room, with a couch, coffee table, a pair of recliners, and an end table between them. There was a TV stand holding a flat panel opposite the couch, but the recliners were angled so users could see the screen just as well. In the far living room wall were two doors, one bed and one bath, I guessed. There was an open area through a opening in that far wall, with stairs leading down. Probably a laundry area, family room, storage, and a second bath. It might have had the layout to support a second bedroom down there.
I wandered over and seated myself in one of the recliners. The lady had stretched out on the couch. In another twenty minutes, she plated a great-looking pork loin from the crockpot. Out of the oven came the bread and baked potatoes. I had already placed the small fruit basket on the table.
We sat down to eat, quiet at first. Then the lady of the house broke the silence. “We made a dinner date, and we don’t have introductions out of the way. I’m Emma,” she said.
“Well, Emma, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Will. I don’t go by Bill or any variations of Bill,” I said. “Everyone does, and always has, called me Will.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Emma replied. “So Will it is.”
The food was nothing to scoff at, close to as fine as home-cooked gets, and I ate and enjoyed. Emma ate and was comfortably full. We each sampled the fruit basket. Listening to Emma engaging in the brief conversation, her voice was feminine, but just a little throaty, very likable and pleasant to hear.
While I was about five-seven and at most medium build, Emma was a hefty chunk of figure. She was about five-eight, with stocky thighs, not flabby thunder thighs, but pleasantly broad. Her torso was wide, more than fat; at worst, she might have had one broad roll of soft cushion drooping at her waistline. There was no doubt she sported D-cup breasts, wearing them well and carrying them easily. They packed her t-shirt well.
She had a mop of curly, sand-colored hair on top of her head; it was trimmed short around her ears, thick, loosely curled ringlets and standing high across the top of her head. From the view yesterday, I knew it was curly and half as long canlı bahis at the back. She wore it well, and I guessed she was in her late thirties. She had soft brown eyes, and her smile made arguments and objections dissolve.
Perhaps most prominent was her backside. It filled out the jeans she was wearing very, very well. Her cheeks were round and protruded way out off her waist. They were also very broad, pushing out probably three or four inches beyond her hips. If I was to guess where a ruler would read to take it all in, I would have bet 30 inches or more. I decided that along with her hairstyle, her ass was my favorite feature. For some reason, I enjoyed big butts. It had been a realization I’d come to in the last couple years.
Truth be told, both of us had been studying each other discreetly during the meal. I could see her mind turning things over. I hoped I wasn’t putting out the same vibe. But it also made me wonder if she had more in mind than dinner and a movie for one night.
The silence was parted again. “So what kind of day job do you have?” Emma asked. I told her I was a proofreader for a newspaper. I turned the question and asked her, “What do you do?”
She responded, “I’m a content supplier and writer for a fetish internet site.”
“More fun than proofreading,” I noted. “You like it?”
“I have a staff of five people, but I started the site and been doing it six years,” Emma answered. “I enjoy it. There are plenty of jobs I see as worse, and I’d rather be where I’ve been, than do any of them.”
“Good for you. I have a talent for decent sentence structure and I like to read. There are jobs I wouldn’t want, too, and I’ll take this over them, just like you said. By the way, the meal is excellent,” I added.
“Trying for brownie points. Thank you,” Emma said.
“You’re welcome,” I replied. We both cleaned our plates. I took mine to the sink and rinsed it. Then I asked if Emma wanted anything out of the fruit basket. She told me to put half of what was left in the crisper drawer in the fridge. So I took the basket over and began putting things into the drawer.. I stood, stepped back, and closed the fridge when I was done. Emma had been at the sink rinsing her plate and getting the crockpot soaking.
As I let the door close, I felt Emma ease behind me and drop her hands to my waist. She whispered in my ear, “Thank you for coming.” With her chin resting on my shoulder, she moved and her lips sucked gently at my neck. I started when I felt it. Then I realized it felt very nice, and I slumped, and leaned into Emma, and let her have her way.
“There you go. Relax,” Emma said. She continued for a couple more minutes, then turned me loose. “Would you scrub the crockpot out?” she asked me.
“Mmmm-hmm. Sucker me in, and give me the shit detail,” I said. “Not your favorite job to do?” I asked. “Nope,” was her reply.
I went over and set to work. Emma picked out the movie. Then she wandered back in as I finished the several minutes worth of work. “Nice job,” she commented. As she passed back to the living room after filling a glass of water from the fridge dispenser, she reached out and very gently patted my butt., giving the cheek a parting squeeze.
“Oh my God, there’s nothing there!” she quipped. “You can have half of mine.”
I set the crockpot up to dry, and Emma got Captain Phillips ready to play. She parked herself in one of the recliners. I wandered in, and as I passed to take the second chair, Emma grasped me gently and lowered me. Then she spread her legs, tucking me between them. I squirmed a little, but stayed where Emma wanted me.
I leaned back, letting tension out of my muscles. The movie started, and I could feel Emma’s gentle breathing in my right ear. Thirty minutes passed, and I felt Emma tense just a little. Then I heard an amazing rumble, loud enough to come over the TV volume, and several seconds long. Emma panted, then gave a long sigh.
“Wow. Noisy,” I commented. I caught a faint whiff of intense sulfur odor.
“Just a little gas. The way my belly works, there’ll be a few more rounds,” Emma said.
“Always big, strong noisemakers?” I asked. It wasn’t a raspberry as much as a deep, long, rolling crackle.
“I’m gifted, I guess,” Emma admitted. “There’s that smell, too,” she added.
Ten minutes passed. Emma looped her hands around me and turned loose some more inspired noise from her ass. I was so relaxed, I twitched hard when I heard it.
“Whoa! Easy,” Emma said. I relaxed. The movie continued. In another 30 minutes, Emma passed tremendous gas twice more. I asked if she had discomfort before it happened; she said no, it was just usually long and loud.
As the movie ended, Emma let one more great blast loose. This time, sulfur engulfed the chair. “I’m done,” Emma promised, punching over to cable TV. We sat, and Emma gently rubbed my back. Then she was massaging my shoulders, somewhat aggressively. “Damn, you’re tight,” bahis siteleri she commented. And she kept working. I slumped, watching an NBA game.
She finished her massage. She leaned toward my ear again and asked, “Will, you know what the term “Cleveland steamer” means?”
“I know the definition,” I said.
“You should get one,”Emma said. “I’m ready.”
“This is your agenda, butter me up and then subject me to all kinds of weird things?” I asked. “You want me up close and personal while you poop! Not sure I’m ready for that one,” I finished.
Emma countered, “Since we’ve been neighbors, I’ve noticed you. And even though I’ve dated a number of guys, and even indulged with a few people in my personal sexual/fetish interests, since you’ve been here, the urges to do things with you have been maddening.”
“Your dinner invite was still loaded,” I noted.
“Well, yes it was, in a way,” Emma admitted. “Do I have any appeal for you at all?”
“I like all your hair,” I said. “I’d like to blow my load in it.”
“Well, that’s down and dirty. But I’m going to shit on you, so one good turn deserves another, right?” she decided. “Anything else?”
“Ever measure your butt? How wide is it?” I inquired.
“I figured you scoped it out. You like ’em big? Mine’s 30 inches, no matter what pants I wear,” Emma confided. We grinned at each other. “We can build on this. Everything needs a start,” Emma declared.
“Did I hear you say we’re doing the steamer?” I asked. “Because I was serious about that.”
“So was I. We’re going. Together. I’m tucking your head between my legs, and I’m gonna lay a load right on the back of it,” Emma said.
I got off Emma’s lap. She stepped in front of me, and held out her hand. I took it and she led me out of the living room and down the stairs to the lower level. As I suspected, there was a full bath here, with a shower. Said shower had a curtain.
Emma disrobed. I gawked at her heavy D breasts. Her jeans and panties came off, and I got an eyeful of her wide ass; 30 inches of ass I couldn’t fathom, but now I got the idea. It was tanned and smooth, rounded out well beyond her waistline at the back. Emma bent over. “No craters here,” she noted. “Smooth as a baby’s.”
Emma entered the shower. “Strip down,” she ordered. I did, slowly. I stepped to the stall, and Emma helped me in. She wrapped her arms around me. I shook. A mild, but noticeable tremor. My heart thumped. Emma’s hand moved to my belly.
“Butterflies? Nerves? Jesus, you’re shaking. Are you that scared? Me, or the poop?” she asked.
“Both, and both,” I said.
“Will, I forced you. But I won’t hurt you. If that happens, I don’t get what I’ve wanted since you’ve been around. I’m a little bossy on the road to getting what I want, but that’s it. As for the poop, yes, it’ll be big. There might be some mess. And it’ll stink. You handled all that gas, you’ll be fine. You know, the mess, that’s what the shower’s for. I don’t mind the cleanup. I start it, I gotta finish it too. And I won’t get really gross and compound the mess. I shit, enjoy it, show you how big it is, and we’re done with the hard part.”
Emma stepped sideways. “Kneel,” she instructed. I did. She pulled the shower curtain. On my knees, I stared at the inside of the curtain. Emma stepped behind me carefully. Legs wide, she tilted my head down and squatted. She turned my face sideways, and I got a glance of her seriously wide rump.
“There’s your quick look,” she said. Despite her mildly bitchy demeanor, she caressed my face as she centered it again. “Fuck, I want this,” she panted. “Sorry to be so forward, Will. Here we go.”
Emma shifted, checking her squat. She held my head very gently. I sensed her massive ass just over me. I heard her breathing, and felt my heart sill thumping. I wanted to bail out. I heard Emma inhale. I expected to feel Emma’s shit touch the back of my head in a matter of seconds.
What I got was a seriously loud, long, rolling crackle from her ass; her trademark. And it bounced around the enclosed shower. My eardrums actually quivered. “My ears!” I declared loudly.
I felt Emma’s hands on my shoulders. She inhaled, and I sensed her starting to dump her load. I heard her sigh, breathe in, and grunt loudly. One hand left my shoulder. Something touched the back of my head. Emma’s hand moved. Her grunt continued. Then I felt something fairly solid drop gently where I was sure her turd had already started to touch me.
“Hell yes,” Emma stated. “God, shitting feels so good.”
The smell hit, and it was sulfur-laden and fierce.
“Thank you for sharing,” I said sarcastically. Emma’s load remained on my head.
“The smell,” she noted. “Pretty bad. Sorry, hon. But it’s big. You gotta appreciate that. I’m gonna move it, and you get a look.”
She leaned over and carefully lifted her gift. I carefully moved my head to get a look; a huge, dark turd rested in Emma’s hands. If it wasn’t bahis şirketleri eight inches long, my eyeballs and my mind weren’t working at all.
“Hot shit,” I said to Emma. She laughed. She also stepped aside so I could get myself out of the shower, to let her do what needed doing. She deposited her turd in the toilet bowl. She washed her hands thoroughly. She wiped. I admired her figure and butt, in profile, the whole time.
“How much did you leave in my hair?” I asked. I didn’t want to go touching back there and get messy hands.
“There’s a little,” Emma said. “Back in so I can fix that.” I stepped back over into the shower. Emma crowded in. The curtain closed and the water started. Emma wet my head with a sprayer and combed through the area where she’d dropped her load.
She lathered some soap to clean her hands, then squirted some shampoo and lathered my head. As a matter of fact, she massaged all the way through my hair with her nails, and there was no doubt my hair was clean. She pulled me close enough so I could lean back into her while she worked. She finished the lather and rinsed.
I was officially half-hard at this point, and I suddenly had a mad urge to take a leak. So I pointed my penis. Emma was busy wetting the rest of me. She started soaping me all over. I fired my stream of pee at the top of her right foot. I splashed it good, and she gasped.
I heard a crack, and my own ass smarted. “Getting even, I see,” Emma noted. She’s soaped the front and back of my torso, and was doing the same to my ass, groping it with absolutely no shame. She next worked her way down one leg.
That left one leg and my jewels. “Don’t you dare play rough with my brass ones,” I warned. Emma looked at me.
“I wouldn’t,” she said sincerely. “I hear they’re plenty sensitive.” And she proceeded to work very gently for about two minutes. Then a final rinse, and I exited the shower and dried off. Emma washed her hair and soaped up and rinsed. She left the curtain open about 6 inches, and I watched the entire time, also with no shame. She finished in fifteen minutes. We exited the bath and returned up the stairs.
Emma closed out the prying eyes for the living room and dropped her robe. She wanted to bestow a farewell hug before I walked back and got ready for Friday. She nestled me close, and my dick stirred again. Her hair and her skin smelled of oranges.
“Citrus body wash and shampoo?” I asked. She nodded, pulling me close and nuzzling my neck. I inhaled the subtle but noticeable scent. She stepped back and tilted her head, guiding my face into her hair.
“Get a nose full. Go ahead. Enjoy,” she said. I let her soft hair plow into my face, and took a deep breath; the orange smell was more intense.
Emma finally released me. “Come see me tomorrow after work,” was her parting suggestion. I set out for the short walk home.
Friday dragged, but I did my part and headed home. I sat in front of the TV for a bit and then took a walk to Emma’s house. I knocked, she answered. “Hi. Get yourself in here. You didn’t eat yet, right?” I shook my head. “Chicken fajitas, homemade bread and fruit,” she pointed out.
“You did not have to cook again,” I said.
“I didn’t do it because I had to. I needed leverage for what I’m going to do with you tonight,” she explained.
“Aw, shit,” I said, looking disappointed.
“That is part of the plan,” Emma confirmed.
I could already smell the bread, noting the large bread machine sitting in view. The rest of the house began to smell amazing when the fajita ingredients were being prepared.
I went and parked myself in a recliner and just watched Emma cook, spending a lot of time enjoying the sight of her ass. In another 20 minutes, we sat down together and dug in. I had one fajita, fruit, and 2 slices of the homemade bread. Emma had two fajitas.
“No dessert,” she admitted.
“You worked hard enough. I do have a sweet tooth,” I said. We proceeded to discuss movies, and we decided on Into the Blue with Paul Walker and Jessica Alba. Both of us finished, and Emma trailed me to the sink. Again, she patted my butt as she moved up behind me. She told me to go sit while she washed dishes, which took another 20 minutes.
Emma wandered in and sat on her couch. She beckoned, and I joined her. “You’ve spent a lot of time looking at, and probably thinking about, my ass,” Emma noted. “Is there something you’d like?”
“Too bad I’m not very big,” I said, “because I’d really like that rump in my lap. I want all the softness plastered across my legs,” I said.
Emma got the DVD ready to start. She came back and sat down. “There are ways to do things, you know. Outside the box,” she said. With that, she sprawled out with her feet pointed at me. She slid toward me until her feet rested on the sofa arm. She lifted herself and planted her pelvis squarely across my lap. This, of course, left her ass not very far from my face; well-filled jeans and all.
“How’s that?” Emma asked, looking at me and grinning slyly. It was about right; there wasn’t enough of her weight on me to be uncomfortable, but her ass was up close and personal. All I elected to do was moan.