I met Steve Ripley in the Remuda Saloon one summer afternoon. He was a big,
good-looking rancher in his forties, kind of a Marlboro Man in his Stetson and
cowboy boots. The Remuda is a sports bar with lots of photographs of athletes on
the walls. On the wall opposite the bar was a huge blowup of a drum majorette
who was strutting at the head of a parade, spine back, knee bent, long legs and
a short skirt and marching boots and shako. A very sexy piece indeed. Her face
was turned toward the camera and she was grinning, showing a great set of
choppers. I wondered who she was and figured she must be a local celebrity.
Steve Ripley was drinking straight shots of whiskey and I was drinking beer. We
hit it off right away and found each other right good company. He said he was a
rancher and half invited me out to his spread sometime indefinite. He said he'd
better check with his wife first. He barked a laugh and said she'd do anything
he said... After awhile we got tired to drinking and went out and sat in the
breeze in captain's chairs on the hotel porch. I noticed three women coming
along, in no hurry, laughing and gossiping away. They were obviously three
generations of one family. It was summer and all three wore light cotton dresses
or skirts, with sleeveless blouses or tops that showed bare shoulders. The
oldest was the granny, silver hair and specs, pretty good legs and hips for an
old woman and a bold, hawkish face with heavy black eyebrows and a few whiskers
like an old mandarin. Curiously enough, the hairy adornment fitted her and made
her quite sensual. She was a pretty big woman but not quite fat. She moved with
dignity and poise and was quite attractive for an older woman. I found she had a
curious kind of magnetism though at first she seemed to be a typical granny. The
other two women were both fatties--they waddled along with bellies and boobs
bouncing in front of them. I could see from his expression that this was Steve's
family. I judged the middle woman was his wife and I wondered if the young one
was his daughter. The old woman looked to be in her late sixties or maybe
healthy early seventies, the middle fatty was in her forties and the young one
in her twenties. The middle one must have weighed over 200 pounds and I reckoned
she was about five foot six. She wore an old, rump-sprung corset and uplift bra
that didn't give her enough help and she had dyed blonde hair and a smooth face.
The young one was much fatter -- probably about 240 -- and she practically
rolled on her low-heeled loafers. She was dark haired and like her grandmother
had black eyebrows that met above her snub nose. She also had a surprising
mustache, as thick as a man's and running along the full length of her long
upper lip. As she got closer, I saw her false teeth rolling around in her mouth
when she talked -- they sure didn't fit right! She was wearing a sleeveless
black blouse and a full skirt to below her knees. She was quite hairy--thick
hair on her bare legs and forearms, hair in her armpits when she lifted a beefy
arm. Her skirt was primly long but it was slashed along one side and every time
she took a step it flipped open revealing... BLOOMERS! Yes, old-fashioned rayon
bloomers in shocking pink. They were startling in this day and age. I wondered
if her grandmother still wore bloomers! The women strolled up to Steve and he
rose and introduced me. I was surprised to find that his wife was not the older
fattie but the young one. He seemed to be very proud of her. Bobby, the wife,
seemed to be a shy and insecure person. Her mother was one of those placid women
in their forties who has become so used to her avoirdupois as to feel quite
secure and confident. She had lost her looks but was complacent about everything
-- much more than her daughter. Steve said she lived in Marville, about 500
miles to the west, but visited fairly frequently. I got the impression that she
was married for a second time. The grandmother lived here in town, in an
apartment by herself, but it was obvious that she supervised her granddaughter
closely. She seemed very close to both her granddaughter and her grandson-in-law
and I was a bit startled to find her bold stare looking me over in an arrogant
way. Steve treated her affectionately and they seemed to have a special
relationship. I began to be more and more impressed with the fact that she was a
handsome enough woman and knew it well. She carried herself well, helped by an
expensive corset, and she was very self confident. Steve seemed very proud of
his portly young wife and put his arm around her shoulders as he talked about
her to me. She looked awfully nervous though she cast worshipful glances up at
him. I couldn't understand why he seemed so pleased with himself at having such
a frump. We chatted for a few moments and the Ripley's agreed that I should be
invited up for dinner at an unspecified time. Grandma Marnie cast bold and
provocative glances at me that turned me on in spite of her age. Doris, the
mother of Bobby, obviously had gotten used to being ignored as a sex symbol and
was pleasant enough. I looked her over approvingly but put any thoughts on the
back burner. I wanted to find out more about this intriguing family before I
made any advances. The four of them left and I went back in the bar for another
drink. I asked the bartender about them and he grinned lewdly at me. "You notice
that poster of the drum majorette over there?" he said. "Yeah! Sexy girl. She
from around here?" "That's Bobby Heller when she was the bombshell of Lincoln
High. Must be 17 or 18 there...Well, Bobby's now Mrs. Sceptre." "What?" I asked,
startled. "But that girl doesn't look anything like the woman Steve Sceptre
introduced me to as his wife!" The bartender grinned again. "Get Steve to tell
you the story of his marriage," he said. "It's a good story and he likes to tell
it...He'll be in Thursday about this time...Don't push him -- just drop a hint."
Well, I came back on Thursday and sure enough, Steve was there. We had a couple
of drinks and I told him how pleased I was to meet his family. He grinned
wolfishly at me. "Like my cute little wife, Bobby? That's her in the photo up
there ten years ago. She used to be the star cheerleader and drum majorette
before she married me. I changed all that." "Isn't she a little young for you?"
I asked. "I thought at first the mother was your wife." Steve ordered drinks for
both of us. "People said that when I started courting her," he admitted
cheerfully. "But, boy she was cute!" "Well, I can see that...But she seems to
have changed just a little." He roared with laughter. "You bet!" he said
proudly. "I was the one who changed her -- turned her into a proper wife...
Well, her gran helped a whole lot and her mom helped some. But it was my idea to
change the formula. Course it took quite a time and a lot of effort on my part.
She sure didn't cooperate much!" "I-- I don't understand why she's so different!
Can't be that long since--" "It's seven years and I did it all!" "Could you
explain or am I poking my nose in?" "Naw, it's alright!...See, what happened was
I was lookin" for a young wife and I saw this beauty and fell for her. People
told me she was a real slut -- slept with everybody. Gossip said she'd fucked
everything around -- she and a girl friend blew the whole football team when it
won a championship." I was pretty startled at hearing a husband being so frank
about his wife but he was grinning at me lasciviously and I could see he was
quite a different kind of husband. I had an idea he wanted to say quite a lot
about the education of his wife and would be happy to hear me talk back in the
same vein. "But didn't you object to her being such a slut?" Steve grinned
confidentially at me. He took a drink and paused before he went on with great
confidentiality. "Hell, no! I liked her spunk! But I intended to marry her and
reform her. People told me she'd play me for a patsy and I wouldn't be able to
keep her in my bed. But I got to know her grandma, Marnie -- you met her -- and
we worked out a plan." Over the next few days Steve gave me the full story of
his courtship of Bobby Heller and their highly eventful marriage. Later, Bobby's
grandmother, Marnie, filled in some of the details. It was quite a story...
Bobby Heller was listed in her high school year book as "Miss R.H" of the year
and that was accurate because her name was Roberta Heller. But what the editor
meant was that she was "Miss Round Heels." She was one of those bouncy, outgoing
girls who makes an ideal cheerleader or drum majorette, voluptuous at 14, big
boobed, wide assed, long legged, with a come hither smile and twinkling blue
eyes. Every boy wanted her and almost every boy got her. The year the football
team won the regional championship, Bobby and Sally West, her best friend, gave
the team a treat -- a round robin blow job in the dressing room after the final
game. The coach watched benignly -- he had already fucked both girls at
half-time. Bobby ended her education in a blaze of something. In her final year
she was low on grades and decided to do something about it. Unhappily, she was
caught by the prim vice-principal going down on the principal in his office.
Both of them were expelled. After leaving school, Bobby worked as a waitress and
a barmaid and continued her lurid career, which had started when she was a
precocious thirteen-year-old. Everybody liked her and almost everybody, male and
female, fucked her. When she was 22 Steve Sceptre decided to marry her. He was a
well-to-do farmer, a man of 47 who had been around. He had been an athlete and
had worked as a logger, oil rigger and various other manly pursuits. He was also
nobody's fool which was the thing that surprised people about him wanting to
marry Miss R.H. Bobby's mother had never been able to -- had never tried, to
tell the truth -- control her daughter or her other children. She was a
dispirited woman of 47, run to fat and careless of her appearance. Mainly she
was self-indulgent. When people told her about Bobby's adventures she just
shrugged hopelessly and clacked her false teeth as she always had. Bobby's
grandmother was quite another cup of tea. She was a handsome, strong-willed
woman of nearly 70 who lived 500 miles away but heard all the gossip from her
friends in town. She frequently wrote to her daughter and told her to put her
foot down with Bobby, with her sisters and with her brother. It did no good.
During the engagement, Grandma Marnie came to stay with her daughter and she met
Steve at a shower. She liked him -- he was just the kind of man she was
attracted to, very much like herself. She also felt sorry for him. So she
cultivated him and found he liked her company as much as she liked his. One day
when they were alone together she asked Steve if he knew what he was getting
into with Bobby. He laughed and said he did. "Well, I'll be quite frank with
you, Steve," said Mrs. Epper. "I don't think my granddaughter is the kind of
girl who will make a particularly good wife. You should know what you're getting
into before it's too late. Bobby is my granddaughter and I love her dearly but
her mother should have taken a hairbrush to her bottom the way I did. She'd have
been a better girl. Doris came out all right but she's weak and she couldn't
handle Bobby. Steve grinned. "I think of Roberta as a kind of challenge for a
husband," he said. Grandma Marnie gave him a sidelong look. "Those are famous
lost words. Many husbands have thought they could appeal to the better side of
their wives." "I don't intend to appeal. I'm going to persuade Bobby to settle
down with a firm hand. And I'll be looking for your advice and help." Marnie's
eyes sparkled. "You mean you're going to treat Roberta the way I treated her
mom?" "Well, I want to hear all about that... What I have in mind is the full
treatment. I'm going to put Bobby into old-fashioned duds, fatten her up a good
deal and impose a few restrictions. I think she'll give in after awhile. If she
doesn't, she'll go across my knee with her pants down. I'll turn her into a
wet-eyed believer!" Marnie let out a long sigh. "Well, praise the Lord!" she
sighed. "Maybe it will work. You have my undiluted support!...Does Bobbie know
what's in store for her?" Steve chuckled. "Not at all! I'm sure she thinks
she'll go right on with her skedaddleing around town. I won't tell her till
after the honeymoon. Then the curfew will crash down, the new wardrobe will
appear and I'll put her on a crash diet in reverse. Do you think she'll enjoy
the strap?" Grandma Ester shook her head in admiration. "I can do better than a
strap for you! I'll make you a present of the very hairbrush I used on Doris and
the other kids. There's nothing like a good heavy maple hairbrush for bringing
submission!" "I'll bet! ... I'll also need your advice on where to get the kind
of underwear I intend Bobbie to wear." "Have you got any ideas?" "Of course! I
intend to put her into old-fashioned bloomers and vests like her mom wears. I
think she'll be worried about her boyfriends and girl friends laughing at her."
"What a good idea! I know a lingerie shop where she can be fixed up. They supply
me...Now, what about a special diet for her?" "What do you mean?" "You should
fatten her up. There's nothing that takes a girl out of the round-heels running
like a pot belly and a satchel ass. That's one reason I never objected when
Doris started eating herself into the fat woman class...I hope you won't mind
having a fat wife? It will do a lot to help control her." Steve thought it over
and grinned lewdly. "That's a hell of an idea, gran!" he said slowly. "Naw, I
kind of like big women...You think I should turn Bobby into a woman as big as
her mom?" It was Marnie's turn to smile. "She may get bigger...But you'd better
make your mind up at the start because there'll be no going back -- a woman who
gets a real potbelly and a wide ass never loses it. You'll be stuck with her but
she'll also be your creation and you'll be the one she worships because there'll
be nobody else for her. Are you sure YOU want to have a fat wife? Do you think
you'll find her sexually attractive? Steve nodded slowly and looked reflective.
"That's an interesting point and I'm not sure about the answer," he said. "I'm
not sure whether I'll find her as repulsive as a pig when she gets fat and loses
her looks. That's the fun of it! I want to deliberately change her into
something else -- to put my mark on her permanently. I THINK I'll like her very
much that way. But I'm not sure. Do you understand what I mean?" It was Marnie's
turn to smile and nod. "I love your honesty!" she said. "I'll be very happy to
be part of Bobby's transformation. Whatever happens, the change will reform her.
And I can hardly wait to see what happens and what it does to you! I feel
positively like a female Pygmalion!" Steve laughed loudly. "Good for you, gran!
We'll have a lot of fun!" "Thank you, dear boy...We're going to have quite an
adventure.". "Yeah...I can see that... What a hell of a joke to pay on a high
kicker! This is going to be FUN!" "Well, I know a colored woman and her daughter
who could look after your house and cook the meals. I'll give them a high fat
diet for Bobby and I'm sure they'll make sure she gobbles it up. You can help by
bringing home chocolates. They're good for the teeth, too!" "What you do mean?"
"Well, one of the best things in your campaign to transform Bobby is to persuade
her to get all her teeth out and get dentures. There's nothing takes the starch
out of a rebellious miss like losing her teeth -- especially if she's got a
great smile!...The chocolates and sugary desserts will soon rot out her teeth.
And I can arrange things with my dentist. He's a kind of specialist in handling
total extractions for husbands." "You're a wonder, gran!" Steve said admiringly.
"We'll follow your plan down to the letter." He leaned forward and kissed Marnie
on the cheek and looked deep into her eyes. "Thanks, gran!" he said. She looked
back at him and smiled. Then she turned her face and kissed him lingeringly on
the lips, a kiss of real sensuality. He put his arms around her and drew her
close, prolonging the kiss. Then he withdrew. "Later, gran," he said ambiguously
with a smile of real complicity. * The wedding was a big affair with many of
Bobby's former and current boyfriends in attendance. Their smirks indicated that
they expected to continue. Doris had modified her own white wedding dress for
her daughter and she wore it with great style. She was in her element as the
centre of attraction. Steve had bought a big house with a swimming pool and
extensive grounds a couple of blocks from her mother. Gran leased her house,
took an apartment close by and moved so she could observe the taming of her
granddaughter and help her grandson-in-law. Steve took Bobby on a trip to Europe
and spared no expense. Inside of two weeks after the wedding, Bobby was flirting
with French waiters but Steve made no complaint. He found his wife was a
terrific fuck, enthusiastic and expert. He loved having her long, slim legs
wrapped around his back, her gorgeous, lewd smile showing off her toothpaste-ad
teeth, her high breasts and flat belly. When she went down on him he realized
her experience made her a very good cock-sucker. Yet he was also aware that she
was probably capable of giving as much pleasure to other men who caught her
fancy. When they moved into the new house Bobby met the new housekeeper -- a
colored woman in her forties who was a noted cook. She was a stout, energetic
party who used a lot of oil and sugar in her cooking. Steve also fed his wife
lots of candy and ice-cream -- there was always a five pound box of chocolate
creams around. Bobby was well aware of the tendency of women in her family to
get fat and she prized her own voluptuous figure. But she was greedy and had no
self-restraint. That meant she couldn't resist the chocs despite what it meant
to her waistline or her teeth. The impact of that and lots of pasta soon began
to show on her thighs and tummy. A few weeks after they settled in, Bobby
disappeared. Steve followed her downtown about 10 pm and found her sitting in
her old bar head close to a former lover. Without comment, Steve led her out to
the car firmly. She did it again a couple of nights later. This time Steve
didn't follow her. When she came home next morning her husband took her into the
kitchen, pulled down her slacks and panties, bent her over his knee and whopped
her bare bottom. She was outraged at first and complained angrily, her shouts
soon turned to howls of pain. "There'll be more of that every time you don't
come home!" he said. She screamed rage and threats at him. That very night she
stayed out again. This time he thrashed her with the hairbrush, raising big
bruises on her luscious ass. Then he dragged her to a room he had been having
remodeled. It was a bedroom with a single bed, one chair and a washbasin. The
window was heavily screened. He pushed Bobby in and closed and locked the door.
She screamed and protested but he left her there. Once in awhile he would push
in a snack through an opening in the wall beside the door. The walls were
soundproofed and she screamed herself into silence the first day. After two
days, he let her out. She was dirty and disheveled and rushed to the master
bedroom to get new clothes. She threw off her old things and quickly took a hot
shower. Then, naked, she headed for her dresser, yanking open her underwear
drawer. "Where's my clothes?" she screamed at Steve. Steve led her to a table
with neat stacks of freshly ironed, brand new underwear -- silk and rayon and
cotton bloomers and vests, heavy gauge nylon and silk stockings, a couple of
girdles, slips and petticoats. When she saw the old-fashioned underwear (which
she had learned to despise when she saw it on her mother and grandmother) she
screamed again and protested bitterly but Steve told her to put on bloomers and
shimmy. She refused and he put her over his knee and gave her a thrashing on the
bare ass with a hairbrush. She howled and blubbered and finally agreed to don
the hated undies. It went like that for a week with Steve whipping her every day
until he broke her spirit and she began wearing the things he wanted without
protest. In six weeks she had accepted the face that every morning, without
prodding, she climbed into girdle, heavy-duty uplift bra, heavy hose, DK's and
vest. She tried to keep her friends from finding out her shame but Marnie and
Doris spread the word and she took a great deal of kidding. Other husbands
sniggered and smirked but they looked at Steven with a good deal of respect and
approval. Meanwhile, the diet prescribed by Grandma Marnie was working its magic
and Miss R-H was starting to grow into her bloomers. She gained weight at a
surprising rate and was up to 150 in no time with the promise of a bulging
belly, wide hips and drooping breasts. Marnie and Doris suggested a new
depillitant which would be easier than shaving her arms, legs, armpits and face.
Actually it was a steroid guaranteed to grow hair fast. When she tried to return
to a razor, Steve confiscated it. Inside of three months she had a prominent
mustache and plenty of hair under her arms and on her belly and legs. She was
confused and frightened but Steve looked at her with great satisfaction. He
found that she turned him on more than he had expected and he fucked her royally
every night and gave her all sorts of presents. He could hardly believe the new
woman he had created, especially after she developed a real pot belly and big
ass. He had a photographer make several huge blowups of her in her roles as
cheerleader and drum majorette and he mounted one in the bedroom where he and
she couldn't miss it every night. It gave him a real thrill to compare the slim
young beauty in the picture with the pear-shaped slob that she was after a year
or so. For a long time she could hardly bear looking at herself and often she
would burst into tears (especially when she was standing in front of the mirror
in her bloomers with her false teeth in a glass on the dresser. Steve liked
coming up behind her naked and running his hands of her bulbous belly and
drooping breasts in a way that drew her attention to her looks.) She hardly knew
whether she was more scared, or horny, or excited by married life. In this
confused state it wasn't very hard to get her to the dentist and when she woke
up without a tooth in her head she realized she was a totally new woman. Now she
finally lost heart in the struggle and accepted her new self, getting used to
her appearance in bloomers and corset, her growing belly and thighs, her loose
false teeth or the sight of herself with no teeth, the startling black mustache.
Bobby gradually was absorbed into a completely new society. She found herself
welcomed and cosseted by her mom and gran and the three of them spent a lot of
time shopping, cooking, dressing, gossiping. Then there were youngish married
women who welcomed her to their society and made her feel at home as a fat
woman. Gradually she began accepting the sewing room sessions with her mother
and grandmother -- the older women were prone to wander around in their
underwear without shame or embarrassment, discussing the type of corset that was
most comfortable, the great comfort of loose bloomers, the advantages of
heavy-gauge stockings. Doris and Marnie were quite open about their talk
concerning dentists and plates and feminine hygiene. The older women were often
casual in their corsets and they encouraged Bobby to emulate them. Bobby was shy
about joining in at first but soon there were three big, bloomered, pot-bellied,
satchel--assed, saggy boobs moving casually around and making comments about one
another's appearance. From that point Bobby moved to a stage where she cared
little for public opinion -- she got used to being surprised at a party in the
bathroom by another housewife or two while she casually pulled up her bloomers
and straightened the knee elastics, or pushed her dentures into place after she
put on lipstick or discussed the discomforts of wearing a heavy-duty,
full-length corset with another woman. She took it casually even when she found
a man staring at her legs and realizing her bloomer elastics were on view. Of
course, I was fascinated by this story and I became more and more interested in
Steve's women. I saw a good deal of the whole family and I was quite shaken when
I found Marnie Eppert was openly flirting with me. I'd never thought I had any
interest in older women and I judged Marnie was at least 70. But she had a
peculiar fascination. Somehow I couldn't get her out of my head. I'd never had a
woman anywhere near that old and was under the general impression that women
lost interest in sex after they reached sixty. But Steve's stories indicated she
had a very prurient interest in her granddaughter's relations with her husband
and it seemed likely that she had a streak of horniness such as Steve described.
I met her fairly frequently in the company of the Sceptres and she made it clear
that she liked me and welcomed my advances. One thing led to another and with
Steve's blessing I started dating Marnie. I was used to sweet, shy old ladies
and I was amazed at how bold and inviting she was. She flirted with me quite
openly and was very pleased when she found me responding. It wasn't long before
she welcomed me to her bed. I found her a wonderfully horny person with a great
and lustful interest in sex. We began by fucking energetically and pretty soon
she invited me to move in with her. She was a frank and open person and made no
bones about her sexuality, her age, or anything else. One of the great,
unexpected pleasures of living with her was watching the nightly and morning
rituals she went through in undressing and dressing. When we first went to bed
she had warned me not to expect her to change. "I'm too old and too set in my
ways," she said with a smile. "I'm too comfortable in the way I do things.
You'll have to learn what it's like to live with a woman in her seventies." "But
I WANT to learn!" I assured her. I did, too, but it took awhile because I wasn't
fully aware of what I was getting into. For one thing she did things in an
ordered way. When it was time to go to bed she would go into the bathroom and
strip off her outer clothes. Standing in front of the mirror she would loosen
her long, iron-grey hair and then brush it the traditional hundred strokes. With
her hair hanging around her waist she would vigorously wash her face, removing
all of her lipstick, eye shadow, rouge and pancake makeup. At this stage she
would still be wearing her corset, bloomers, stockings and shoes. She would
carefully examine her mustache to see if it needed trimming and, if it did,
neatly make it even with a pair of nail scissors. Then she would look at the
dozen long black hairs that grew out of her chin like a mandarin's scanty beard.
She might trim one or two but she never cut them off. "I think that little tiny
beard gives me a kind of distinction," she told me with a smile. I agreed that
it did. While her granddaughter had a thick, heavy mustache like a man's,
Marnie's hirsute face was elegant and startling. Most men found it rather
intriguing... In the ritual, next she would remove her dentures and place them
in a plastic bowl with a tablet of dental cleaner. The bowl would be filled with
hot water and it would fizz up violently. She would smile at herself with jaws
apart, seeing her own pink bare gums in the mirror in a kind of grotesque smile.
Having false teeth didn't bother her in the least though she was pleased and
surprised that I preferred her toothless. When she had completed all of the
regular things she would regularly as clockwork take a leisurely piss and shit,
wash her private parts, put on her nightgown at come to bed. All of this took
half an hour or longer. At first I respected her privacy as I had been taught
but the sight of her at her toilette was intriguing and I started dropping in.
Finally I asked her if she minded me being in the bathroom with her. She looked
at me with a come hither smile and said she'd like that. So I came in and
undressed and washed at the same time. She chatted happily with me and went on
with her talk while she was mounted on the throne. I began standing close to her
watching her openly and she'd smile invitingly at me without stopping whatever
she was doing. The next stage was to stand behind her stroking whatever bit of
her was available, in corset, or just bloomers, or naked. I liked the feel of
her and she liked being stroked. I always stole a quick kiss so I could get a
lick at her bare gums. When her dentures were put to bed, she would cover her
face with special cold cream, massage it in, then wipe it off carefully. And
after that she would pull down her bloomers around her knees, unhook her garters
from her Supphose, and unzip her corset, ballooning out while she sighed with
pleasure. She would then pull off bloomers and stockings and drop them in the
clothes hamper. Now that she was naked she would examine herself carefully for
lumps and bruises, lifting her sagging boobs and looking at the nipples, running
her hands over her hairy potbelly and ass, examining the hair under and on her
arms and on her legs. When she had dusted herself with powder she would spray
her crotch and armpits with perfume. If I was watching, she would turn her face
up for another kiss, then waddle into the bedroom. I always wondered at how
different she was naked -- you could see the medallions of cellulite on her ass
and thighs, her boobs hung down loosely to her waist, her belly thrust out in
front of her, her abundant hair was everywhere and overpowering. Even her calves
and lower thighs, without the support of Supphose, hung down loosely. I got used
to her exhibitionism. Most nights I came into the bathroom and talked to her and
I began to stand behind her where we could both see each other in the big
dressing mirrors that revealed a person from almost every angle. When she was
out of her corset and fixing her face I would move in close and start running my
hands over her paunch and pulling her big nipples. She was a little embarrassed
at me drawing open attention to these flawed features of her body. Although she
was realistic about her age, she was somewhat disconcerted when I made a point
of telling her in detail the things I liked about her. She'd be standing there
in front of the mirror brushing her hair, her face covered with cold cream, and
I'd press up against her wide, soft ass and stroke her belly. "You know I love
that big soft paunch of yours," I'd whisper in her ear. "It feels lovely! So
loose and flabby! Just what you'd expect from a 71-year-old paunch! Let me
explore every fold!" "Stop it!" she'd say, but it wasn't deeply felt. Then I
would take her right nipple and pull it down so that the whole boob stretched.
"I love those stretch marks on your boobs and belly," I'd whisper. "You leave my
breasts alone!" she say with simulated fury. "It's bad enough being old and
having flat breasts but you remind me of my age!" "Honey, I'm going to stretch
that right tit down past your navel," I'd said. "Don't you dare!" But I kept on
and within a few days the right boob was several inches longer than the left.
Finally I was able to to pull her tit up over her shoulder so I could suck and
bite the nipple. "I always wanted to do this ever since I read in National
Geographic about the Ubangi women who could throw their right teat over their
left shoulder to feed their babies." "You're awful!" But she soon was laughing
and accepted it. Then it was the turn of her big, wide ass. "Now this is really
something!" I told her. "I like the way an old woman's pelvis spreads and the
ass cheeks get so much cellulite." My cock would start out at half mast but soon
it was thrusting between her buttocks seeking her anus. She would squirm with
nervous expectation as the cock head slipped into the hollow of her outer
asshole. "Careful!" she'd whisper urgently. "You haven't any Vaseline!" "I'll be
careful, but I bet we don't need it." She'd practically purr as my prick moved
against her sensitive anus. Now that she was well broken in the sphincter muscle
didn't really exist any more and there was a mass of loose, flabby skin where
there used to be a tight pucker. So the plum sized cock head would seat itself
easily at the entrance to the rectum. "Okay, honey! Open up! Pretend you want to
take a shit!" (Remember that taking her nightly crap was the last thing she did
before coming to bed! This meant she needed to go to the crapper now so she was
torn between holding tight and letting me do what I wanted. If she tensed her
muscle as she would be doing on the throne in a little while, there was always
the danger that she would really start shitting in earnest!) "I don't have to
pretend any more," she said wryly but I could feel her buttocks and rectum
tense, then relax. You can open an asshole quite a lot that way and every time
she relaxed I pushed my cock farther in. She protested that it was hurting, dry
like that, but she really liked it and inch by inch it moved into her until the
glans had cleared the tight tube of the rectum. There I would find plenty of
shit and that would lubricate it better than Vaseline or K-Y jelly or anything
else. Now I could pull out knowing my cock was coated with slick shit and the
real fuck would start. She would be pumping her hips slowly and would turn her
face to me offering her open, toothless mouth. It was fun kissing her that way
while I was buggering her and pulling her nipples down as far as they would go.
At other times I would squat down beside her and begin stroking her breasts and
belly. I might say something like this: "You know, dear, there's nothing quite
like an old woman's soft paunch hanging down over her crotch. I love the stretch
marks on your belly and on your upper boobs. And it's darling the flatness of
her boobs, scarcely more than two thicknesses of skin -- the long brown teats.."
Then I'd transfer my attentions to her ass and praise the way it spread while my
fingers found and rubbed the medallions of cellulite. I would praise every
wrinkle and fold and roll of flab while she squirmed with a mixture of
embarrassment and pleasure. When we finally slipped away to bed, both of us were
completely aware of the disparity between our ages. In the morning the process
was reversed with her emerging at the end as a tightly disciplined, handsome
woman with a fine white smile, all her flesh firm and glowing. But if we'd had a
really good session in the bathroom the right before she'd have to wear a butt
plug to keep her from shitting her pants. I encouraged her to wear heavy gauge
stockings in varying shades of grey. I loved her big legs and told her so
frequently, delighted with the elastic weave that acted as a corset and gave
thighs, calves and ankles shape and definition. When she had hooked up her
garters, the flesh bulged out provocatively over the tops of her stockings. She
was terribly pleased at the homage I paid to her legs, often quite openly. She
confessed to me that as a young woman she had been vain of her legs and liked to
show them off. As she began to put on weight she realized they were too big for
real, conventional beauty but she did the best she could with suppose. And then
I came along raving about how I loved those legs! I let her know that I loved to
push my face up between them, especially with her stockings on, and lap her cunt
while she crushed me between them. When she found I liked her to show off her
bloomers, she did it at every opportunity, making occasion to let her skirt and
slip slide back over her knees, to spread her knees apart so that bloomers were
on view, even to toy with a bloomer-elastic "absent mindedly."
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