Content notice:
The following story contains depictions of negative body image, weight stigma, and diet talk.
I’ve done my best to portray these issues with empathy and sensitivity. Beauty comes in every size, and a joyous, fulfilling sex life is the privilege of anyone who wants one.
That said, if you’re someone who prefers to avoid such things altogether, you might try one of my other stories instead.
The characters depicted in the following story are all 18 or above. One of the themes involves sexual liaisons between young adult women and much older adults in a position of relative power over them.
The inclusion of this theme is for storytelling purposes only. It is not a comment on the advisability of such relationships in real life.
The Author
~
M.U.F.F., Epilogue
After the party, new offers start rolling in–more clients, opportunities for more parties, live sex shows in proper clubs, and, eventually, pornographic videos.
It starts small. I buy a video camera and perform solo. Stripping, showering, masturbating, things like that. Alex helpfully sets up and manages my website, being the more tech-savvy of the two of us.
Eventually, holding the camera myself, or using the miniature tripod I bought, becomes too limiting, so Alex becomes my videographer. I’ve never felt so attractive or so turned on as when she films me.
When clients learn of my website, it isn’t long before I’m in touch with other sex workers, getting chances to perform with them in little homegrown clips.
At first, it’s other women, one on one, secluded in anonymous motel rooms, Alex happily leering at us through the camera eye.
Then it’s all kinds of people, from all across the gender spectrum, in all kinds of configurations, sometimes in groups. I have my first gangbang–a memory I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.
At some point, I fall into touch with proper companies, who offer me proper money. With Alex’s help, I carefully vet them and figure out which ones I want to work for. Usually smaller, queer-run groups.
I periodically invite Alex to appear on camera with me. She always declines–she enjoys working behind-the-scenes. It eventually blooms into a professional role as my personal producer-director.
It’s a shame she won’t join in. She’s the hottest person I know. Her and Darla.
(I shoot with Darla regularly. She’ll half-jokingly warn me not to fall in love with her, and I reassure her half-sincerely that I never will.)
In a strange episode in our lives, Alex and I are in a polycule with Rob. For a time, he brings home boys for all of us to swap around with. It’s fun while it lasts, but he eventually leaves us.
Alex and I come out as lesbians and as sex workers at the same time, first to our friends, then to our families.
Alex’s family is taken aback, but I can already see them adjusting in real time as the shock wears off their faces. They’ll be fine.
My family, not so much.
The sex work part, they seem oddly undisturbed by.
(Perhaps it explains why my hours at my part time job tapered down to nothing, while my disposable income apparently skyrocketed.)
It’s the lesbian part that raises their anger.
I get a lecture–I won’t repeat it here, but we all know the negative stereotypes and misconceptions–and they advise me, in very colorful metaphors, not to come back until my sexual orientation changes.
Alex and I combine our earnings to buy a house and help me through college.
We get married. It’s a small courthouse thing, followed by a friends-only gathering. Many an amused comment is made about the two of us starting out as high school sweethearts, which I guess is true.
Later, we have a second, much sexier celebration amongst colleagues and professional acquaintances.
Not long after, Alex comes out as they/them. They start wearing boi clothing and hairstyles, which I can’t get enough of. They make me feel like I might die from an overdose of sexual attraction.
They still float with every step they take.
Neither of our appetites has diminished. Our marriage is wide open by necessity. Sometimes, we go days without seeing each other.
But we always welcome each other home.
~
After some small-time porn awards ceremony thing, I get contacted out of nowhere by Mr. Robinson. He lets me know that he’s caught up with the career exploits of Alex and me. He invites us over, to “catch up.”
(Alex and I cleaned up big at the awards. Though not the most likely thing, it wasn’t impossible for the news to get his attention. And we’re not trying to hide anything.)
It’s been three years since the last time I saw him–since that night with him and Mrs. Robinson.
It’s the same scenario as before. We sit down to a nice meal, all home-cooked. This time, we all have wine.
The dinner drifts by, as if a dream, free-associating, plates of delicious food and glasses of wine appearing and disappearing. Conversation floats on the air in an indeterminate haze.
We all know what we’re here for.
I sit down on the Robinsons’ spacious living room couch. When no one else does, I briefly wonder if there’s a cue I’ve misread, until I’m surrounded on all sides at once by three sets of very busy hands.
As if by magic, items of my clothing are spirited away from my body, one at a time. I’m becoming more and more bare as I’m stroked and squeezed and prodded, until I’m naked in a nest of clothed people.
Mouths are on my face, my neck, my shoulders, my upper arms, my breasts. Hands fondle the rolls and folds of my abundant flesh. I’m pushed onto my back; my legs are hoisted and parted. I’m on display.
A hand–it feels big, rough, masculine–glides down my belly, taking its time, luxuriating. It traces the full growth of pubic hair that trails down from my navel and blooms on my crotch and inner thighs.
A finger parts my vulva, making little circles, spreading me in a film of my plentiful secretions while my three lovers make affectionate, indistinct comments to one another about my color and my scent.
~
While Mr. Robinson busies his fingers with my vulva and his tongue with my high-strung nipple, I watch with fascination from the corner of my eye as Alex and Mrs. Robinson undress each other.
It’s a playful affair. Alex’s button down shirt is already unbuttoned to their navel; they untuck it and undo the last couple buttons while Mrs. Robinson playfully undoes the drawstring of their pants.
Mrs. Robinson is down to her sports bra and masculine boyshort. Alex’s front is exposed, nearly down to the cleft of their vulva. Mrs. Robinson’s hand is pressed flat against the plane below their navel.
~
Mr. Robinson brings me up, and up, and up, and I cry and buck and hump at his hand as he brings me to orgasm, enhanced by the beautiful shame of being under the eyes of both of our lovers.
I collapse to the bed, and our audience claps, and Mr. Robinson holds his hand to my lips. With gratitude, I suckle my cum from his fingers.
~
Mr. Robinson has departed me in order to undress himself. Mrs. Robinson helps him, less out of necessity and more because she can’t keep her hands off him–the picture of a successful marriage.
His small but handsome cock is erect. I imagine I can see it throbbing to his heartbeat. The last I see of it for the moment is Mrs. Robinson equipping it with a condom while Alex positions themselves atop me.
Alex and I make out, their passion for me even more inflamed than usual, their tongue welling with warm spit, their mouth consuming me while I lie there, freshly fucked-out and limp, at their mercy.
~
Mrs. Robinson has positioned herself behind me, cradling my head to her bare breasts as I recline against her, slouching into her soft, powerful core.
Alex is still above me, positioned on hands and knees over my body. Their gaze is fixed on me, their eyes glazed, smiling a little open-mouthed smile with the tip of their tongue hanging out just a little.
Rhythmically, they coo-grunt in the back of their throat, in time with the slow, hard strokes of Mr. Robinson as he pounds their pussy from behind–I can see him, just past their body. I’m wet. I’m so wet.
Mrs. Robinson whispers beautiful, profane things that only I can hear as we watch my best friend get happily railed by my erstwhile history teacher.
~
At Mrs. Robinson’s suggestion, Alex takes a seat in the middle of the couch. Mr. Robinson and I sit to either side. Alex is already necking with me–I’m still recovering–while Mr. Robinson kisses their neck.
Mrs. Robinson herself takes a nearby chair, facing us. She reclines with one knee up, casually exhibiting her thick naked flesh, prominent pink vulva, sparse vertical strip of carefully groomed pubic hair.
From her seat at the head of our pornographic tableaux, she issues commands.
“Alex, slouch a little and spread your legs. Hook them over Beth and Murray’s knees.”
“Murray, Alex’s pussy is looking awfully lonely. Why don’t you give them a hand?”
“Beth, spit into your hand and give Mr. Robinson a handjob.”
We obey all of them.
Idly, Mrs. Robinson begins to touch herself.
~
Alex, who would brashly tell me all about their fondest sexual wishes, at a time when our friendship was tender and young, when we had barely started getting to know each other.
(While Alex’s tongue slips in and out of my mouth, my hand cruises up and down Mr. Robinson’s cock, enjoying its hardness, its vitality.)
Alex, who, on a commonplace car ride home from the mall, verbally outlined a vivid fantasy in which they took center stage in an encounter with both Mr. and Mrs. Robinson at the same time.
(Alex turns their face away from mine to kiss Mr. Robinson. He massages their vulva in tight, circular strokes. I lean down and tongue Alex’s little dewdrop nipple.)
I resented their open fantasizing at the time. Now, I admit, the scenario of Alex and the Robinsons had gotten me pretty hot and bothered.
(I hazard a glance at Mrs. Robinson. First, her face–she watches us with an intense expression, her jaw slack. Then, her hand–she’s strumming herself vigorously. Her legs and belly are trembling.)
Alex could unthinkingly make me feel so bad. In retrospect, though, I was also afraid–of looking into the depths of my own proclivities, and of what I now recognize as a growing attraction to Alex.
(Alex, who breaks the kiss with Mr. Robinson to catch their breath. Mr. Robinson asks them if it’s good–the spot he’s touching them in, the pressure. Alex says yes.)
I wanted Mr. Robinson for myself. I was also intrigued by the image of Alex with Mr. Robinson. Adding Mrs. Robinson would just be icing on the cake. A prick in my nascent voyeuristic tendencies.
(I feel Mrs. Robinson’s eyes upon us. I know we all do. As good as this is for us, it’s a hell of a show for her. I’m hypnotized by it–her, watching us, us watching her in return through our periphery.)
Alex, who would tell me over and over again that their ultimate goal was a threesome with a boy and a girl. They would overlook describing the boy, but they would cheerfully describe the girl in great detail.
(Alex’s arm, looped around me. Their hand, squeezing the fat of my waist. It’s almost painful. Whether on purpose or an involuntary reaction to their pleasure, their aggressive touch is delighting me.)
The girl, I realize, was me. I don’t know whether they realized it at the time or not. Alex wanted to fuck me. They always wanted to fuck me. They wanted to fuck me with a man. And I always wanted it, too.
(At Mrs. Robinson’s breathy suggestion, my hand joins Mr. Robinson’s at Alex’s saturated vulva. I stroke them, barely penetrating the their damp vagina, while he teases their hooded clitoris just above.)
This is all of Alex’s favorite fantasies at once.
~
Alex comes, and Mrs. Robinson comes, their voices an unrestrained chorus of lilting pleasure. Mr. Robinson and I steal glances at one another, wordless amazement. Neither of us will ever forget this.
~
Mrs. Robinson and Alex snuggle each other next to Mr. Robinson and me, idly necking and touching each other. Mr. Robinson and I kneel in front of each other, his cock to touching my belly. It’s just us now.
~
We make out, our bodies mashed together, his penis crushed in the soft embrace of our bellies. My fingertips find his asshole. There’s a split second where he seems into it, but then he stops me.
“Next time,” he whispers so that only I can hear. “When it’s just you and me.”
I nod, almost imperceptibly.
~
It’s my turn to teach him, to be the one in charge of dispensing a special kind of knowledge.
I’m bent over, propped up on one elbow, my free hand between my thighs. I masturbate furiously while Mr. Robinson’s perfectly sized cock glides in and out of my ass, enrobed in heavily lubed latex.
I jolt every time his body claps into mine, every time he fills me, stretches me, makes me feel him in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.
I’m dimly aware of the other people in the room, their eyes upon us, avidly watching the spectacle of my flesh, of his confident movement. But, as far as I’m concerned, this part’s for me.
More. I want more.
Mr. Robinson’s role is to fill my silent request.
~
I sit astride his supine body, my ass once again filled to stretching by his cock, and I grind and I jill myself and I command him repeatedly:
“Don’t you dare come until I do.”
Looking up at me, he has no choice but to obey.
~
Then I come, and I cry out, and only then do I allow the fugue state that’s descended upon me to evaporate. I take in the gazing of our observers, the fullness of my exhibitionist behavior.
The orgasm is intense. I frantically fuck myself atop Mr. Robinson, his body steeling itself against its own glimmers of pre-orgasm. My sphincter clenches itself repeatedly on the shaft of his cock.
I howl and cry, sucking breaths in, that heavy smell of latex and ass funk, the moment seeming to sprawl out in every direction at once.
Then it’s over.
For me.
~
At my listless command, Mr. Robinson kneels in front of me.
I sit, slumped, my anus thrumming, between Alex and Mrs. Robinson. The three of us are a tabeaux of nude, sweating bodies for his masturbatory pleasure.
He pulls the condom off.
He jerks off.
It doesn’t take long. Like a proper gentleman, he fulfills the specifics of my command.
His breath ratchets, and he grunts, and the jism that lurches from the purpled head of his well-used cock strikes me on the cheek, then my jaw, then my double chin, and my tits, in many thick ropes.
The man is beautiful in his awkwardness when he comes.
He starts to turn away, but the last of his vital essence is still dribbling from the end of him. I order him to bring it to me.
As he’s told, he wipes it on my face, and my will is satisfied.
~
Hungry mouths upon me, all three of them, clean my face and my body. One by one, they dispatch their findings into my eager mouth, along with a not inconsiderable amount of spit.
I swallow each load with great ceremony.
Then we all kiss.
~
Later, Alex will admit to me that it was all a setup–that they’re the one who reached out to the Robinsons and suggested that they invite us over. In spite of the deception, I’m grateful.
Maybe I’m still Alex’s project. They’ve flourished as a person, as a sexual being, as my partner, someone I could trust to help me flourish in turn. They nurtured me. They helped me become someone I could love.
Now it’s me and them, happily ever after. Living our liberated existence. Carpooling into the sunset.
~
MU.F.F. (Mandatory Ugly Fat Friend) – THE END
A note from the author:
This was my first ever pornographic novel. If you stuck with it all the way to the end, I’m grateful. I hope you enjoyed it.
If you did, please give it a favorite, a rating, and a comment to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!