Best of Best Women's Erotica (26 page)

Spent, I hold the ladder and he holds me until my breathing and my heart slow down. I'm pressed against the ladder and he's pressed against me, but I feel, for the first time in a long time, unencumbered and free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MY NAME IS HUBERT W. HUMPHREY. HUBE Boob. Hube Tube. Humpty Hubert. Hubris. I've been called every name on every possible occasion and it's all very funny.

I'm not what you'd call a ladies' man. Though I am tempted to blame this on my name, it really has nothing to do with that. My name actually suits me well. I'm big-boned—obese, my doctor calls it. I'm short. I don't exercise. My favorite things to eat are donuts and fast foods. I'm just a regular guy.

But I have never been able to get a date. My lowest point was when I asked Harriet, the checkout clerk, to go with me to the office Christmas party. Harriet is a member of the fat pack, a group of mall chicks who hang out together during coffee breaks. She has the least
presentable face in the fat pack—oily skin, pockmarks, and buckteeth to boot. But she has enormous breasts. I figured if we were in the back of a car, in the darkness of night, I could bury my head in her tits and get laid. So I asked Harriet to go with me.

“No way,” she responded, “am I going to be a Hairy Hump!” She walked away, taking her heavenly 40DDD tits with her.

Let's face it: if I couldn't get a fuck out of Harriet, there wasn't much hope for me. I didn't go to college, where women get naked just for the intellectual experience. I couldn't afford a decent whore on my paycheck as manager of the local Kmart—a prestigious job where I come from, but the salary caps at fifteen bucks an hour. Maybe I could find myself a cheap hooker—but with the threat of AIDS and other diseases, I didn't want to risk it.

So I turned to the Internet. Free porn, free live streaming video, free tits—whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. No dates, no hassles, no fear of disease. I discovered a site that would change my life:
www.XoticMailOrderBrides.com
.

 

It was 3:00 A.M. I had just finished jerking off to some soft porn, but was still unsatisfied. I went to the mail-order brides site and began browsing.

Online, I was the pickiest son of a bitch in the world. I passed over pretty Thai women because I decided they were too scrawny. I clicked past the Russian ones for being fake blondes. Most of these women were stunningly beautiful: a guy like me had no business overlooking them.

I spent hours that night trying to find The One. The One what? The one ultimate fuck of my life is how I thought of it. I like curvy women with thick black hair and easy bedroom eyes.
My random clicking patterns weren't bringing her to me, so I consulted the advanced search engine.

South Asian brides came up. Indian chicks? Why not?

I followed the link and there she was: Siliidi. I clicked to see her profile and instantly got hard.

She was practically naked. Her stats were listed on the sidebar: 5'9”, 38D-26-38. Her skin was the color of coffee ice cream and looked every bit as tasty. She had great tits—definitely real—with round, suckable brown nipples. Her hips flared out from her tiny waist and flat stomach. Her legs were long and lean, but had that fleshy female roundness that I love.

With a package like that, I wouldn't have cared if she had Harriet's face. But of course she didn't: she was absolutely gorgeous. Her hip-length black hair was spread across a white pillow, and her huge, liquid brown eyes stared at me as if she wanted to devour me. As if she wanted to fuck me.

I connected to the site and sent Siliidi a private message.

She was getting right down to business. I didn't have to do a thing. She proceeded to send a series of dirty messages while I jerked off again and again. Before I knew it, the sun was rising and I had to get ready for work.

Over the next two weeks we continued our virtual meetings nightly. Eventually I sent her a naked picture of myself and told her my real name was Hubert. I didn't want to be caught in a lie if I got to meet her in person. To my surprise, she said my photo turned her on. That night I typed out the things I wanted to do to her while she touched herself. Then I sent her a hot 69 and was completely spent.

Later that night, I wrote her a short email asking if she wanted to marry me.

She was still online. Yes, she said, she would marry me and yes, she would fuck me.

 

I waited outside International Arrivals for Sri Lankan Airlines Flight 24824. I had given up fast food for a few weeks, so my stomach wasn't rolling over my belt quite as much as usual. I had also bought a new pair of pants; this was as good as I was going to look.

I couldn't wait to meet Siliidi. It wasn't only that I wanted to get regular sex—I certainly did—but this was the first time in my life that a woman had learned almost everything about me and still wanted me. I felt incredible. She was the hottest thing I'd ever seen—at least, there weren't any women I'd jerked off to who were better than Siliidi.

We didn't love each other, but neither of us minded. We were adults, and each of us would be getting something we needed. She wanted a green card; I wanted to get fucked and have my
house cleaned. Besides, I genuinely liked Siliidi—and to be honest, I'd never really liked a woman before.

I'd agreed to our getting married in the airport chapel. She had said that if I didn't marry her right then and there, she would get on the next plane back to Sri Lanka. Those were her terms; if it meant getting sex right after I took her home, I was more than willing to oblige.

I saw Siliidi on the security camera as she walked out of customs and shivered—in person she was even better looking than her Internet photo. She wore a sundress tight across her tits. Her hair hung sexily down her back. Gorgeous.

Siliidi pushed her luggage cart toward me, showing off, swaying her hips. I shoved a bouquet of airport flowers in her face and waited for her to speak. I was sweating profusely. I couldn't wait to finally hear her voice. She turned out to have the voice of a phone sex operator. I got hard instantly.

“Hubert, have you been dieting? You are so handsome,” she intoned in her lilting Sri Lankan accent. She took the flowers and inhaled them as if she wanted to eat them. Even that got me hot.

All I managed to say was a charming, “Hello, Siliidi. You look very nice.”

She grabbed me by the collar and kissed me as if she had been missing me intensely. She wrapped her luscious arms around me and squeezed. “Marry me now, Hubert,” she whispered.

She had traveled halfway around the world to be with me, and I wanted to be with her more than anything. We parked the luggage cart at the chapel, went inside, and tied the knot.

 

Strangely, Siliidi didn't say a word on the way home from the airport—she just massaged my cock. If I had just come to a
new country to marry some stranger, I think I would have felt something, had lots to say, questions to ask. Not Siliidi. She smiled calmly and stared out the window, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She asked a few questions about the town. I pointed out the supermarket, local bar, dry cleaners, and coffee hangouts. She nodded and smiled, and touched me some more.

We arrived home. Siliidi was impressed by my suburban house, and I guess it did seem pretty big compared to the trailers down the street. It has white vinyl siding that I clean on a semiannual basis, and a moderately mowed lawn. As far as the interior, I was hoping that Siliidi would redecorate and make it nicer.

I carried Siliidi's suitcases inside and let her look around for a while. I could hear her slow, sexy footsteps clicking through the rooms. She made it from the bathroom to the bedroom, and then there was silence.

“Siliidi?” I called. No answer. I walked toward the bedroom.

“Siliidi? Where are you?” I was too nervous to have a hard-on. I crept into the bedroom.

She was standing naked on the bed in a pair of high heels, admiring herself in the mirror. She looked like someone straight out of a live streaming video. My cock banged against my boxers. I'm sure I was drooling out of the corner of my mouth. There on my bed with the
Star Wars
comforter and matching pillows was the sexiest woman alive—who also just happened to be my wife.

The spiked heels caught me off guard. “Where…in Sri Lanka…did you get…
those?
”

Siliidi jumped off the bed and slapped me across the face. “You dirty boy,” she said, unfastening my belt and unzipping my fly. “Pull those down. Now.”

Though I can get hot about being dominated once in awhile, this was not the way I had planned our first fuck. But I decided to pull down my pants, because it would bring me closer to actually getting laid.

She circled me, but didn't touch me. My eyes lowered to her nipples; they looked like the chocolate icing on mocha cupcakes. I wanted to press my lips to her smooth skin and suck, but I was interrupted by a painful blow across my buttocks.

“Take off your shirt and your boxers,” she growled. “Get completely naked.”

“Ouch, you bitch!” I whimpered, rubbing my butt. I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but if I upset her I might miss the fuck of my life.

I stood naked in the middle of the room. Though I had shed a few pounds across my midsection, I was still fat and pasty white. My man breasts wobbled over three rolls of stomach flesh. My cock, though above average in size by most standards, was dwarfed by my fat. I was sure Siliidi would make fun of me.

But she didn't. She got down on her knees and her face turned soft and gentle. She touched my cock as if it was a precious thing to protect and cherish. She took it in her mouth and worked it between her luscious red lips, moaning softly, like a woman eating her favorite dessert.

I grabbed a cluster of her raven tendrils and moved her head up and down my cock. She sucked harder; moaned louder; applied more pressure to the tip. My ass tightened and I felt an orgasm starting. She stopped abruptly.

She dragged her nails up my chest and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You have displeased me. Now lie down!”

“What?” I covered my red raging cock with both hands and
took a few steps back. “What kind of crazy bitch are you?” What had happened? Things had been going so well.

Siliidi pushed me down on the bed with a surprisingly strong movement of her arms. She raised her leg over me, enough to give me a shot of her wet lips, and kneed me in my doughboy stomach.

When I saw that she was dripping, I calmed down a little. Maybe this was part of her game. I reminded myself that I had an actual, real live female in my bedroom who was wet and ready.

“Apologize to me,” Siliidi said.

“For…?”

Siliidi grabbed my belt and whipped the pillow next to me. “Just do it. Do it or never get fucked.” She straddled me so her wet cunt was near the tip of my cock. She softened again, turning from bitch to loving wife, and stroked her wetness to remind me she wanted it.

I was so weak—and so close to satisfaction. When I felt her juices on the head of my cock and saw her fondling her breasts, her confusing games didn't matter. I meekly told her I was sorry, though I did not know for what.

She took three minutes to sit down on my cock, making me beg every thirty seconds to go further inside her. I had never seen such developed thigh muscles on a woman. She was able to freeze her toned body just to torture me. Finally, I figured out what she really wanted.

“Mistress,” I said, “I will be a good boy. Please, please sit down on me.”

I had guessed correctly: she loved my obedience. Now she turned sweet and tumbled down onto my cock. Pressing her hands on my chest, she worked her body over me vigorously,
providing maximum pleasure. She brought my head close to her breasts so I could fondle and suck while she moved up and down on me. Using every muscle in her strong and sculpted legs, she pushed me in and out of her.

I had intended to keep it going for a long time, but since this was my first real fuck, it lasted only five minutes—still a record over my hand jobs.

 

Siliidi looked no more than twenty, so I was stunned to learn that she was actually thirty-five. She had been married once before, to a man with a turban, but she divorced him once she realized he had no intentions of moving her to New York City. Ironically, after they were divorced her ex-husband had wed, in an arranged marriage, a much younger American-born Indian. After that Siliidi became even more determined to get to the United States.

Her parents couldn't arrange another marriage for her, since divorce branded her “damaged goods.” So she took matters into her own hands and put herself on the exotic mail-order brides site. She told me she had gotten over a hundred hits a night.

Most of her clients were Germans with brown-girl fetishes. She didn't get much American traffic through her page; American men seemed to want the petite East Asian types. I had been the first American man over eighteen to enter her site.