Page 75 of Confessions of the Funny Fat Friend

He caught me staring, and I let myself look. He reached for his jeans, undoing the button and slowly lowering the zipper. His cock strained against his black underwear, the tip full, hard under the fabric.

I wanted to feel it, to touch it.

I moved to the edge of the bed, reaching for his underwear, but he caught my hand. When I looked up at him in question, there was a salacious smirk on his lips.

“You, Henrietta Jones, are wearing far too much clothing.”

A laugh passed my lips, surprising even me. This, with Tyler, was sexy, hot, incredible, and... fun.

He reached for my hands, pulling me to stand next to him. And then he raised my dress over my head. Blinded by fabric, I could only feel him against me, my stomach brushing against his.

When the dress left my head, I could see him again. He looked in my eyes, his hazel ones so captivating. So open. He was letting me see him, the real him.

And I was letting him see me.

Stretch marks.

Cellulite.

My apron belly and my thighs that rubbed together and my breasts that strained against my size G bra.

It was me.

All of me.

But he didn’t look away or step back. Instead, he kissed me. Not like I was something to be devoured or fetishized, but instead, someone to be worshiped. He reached to my shoulder, fingering the white strap of my bra.

“I like this,” he said.

I reached behind me, undoing the clasps, freeing my breasts, and handed it to him. “It’s yours.” I took a breath. “I’m yours.”

He stared at my breasts, then lifted one into his hand, drawing the nipple into his mouth.

I closed my eyes as he sucked. “That feels so good.”

He drew his mouth away and said, “I want to make you feel good, baby.” He lowered himself, pulling my panties over my thighs, and I kicked them aside as he stood, fully bare to this man I cared so much about.

Who’d given me more than he’d ever know. And I wanted to return the favor.

45

Tyler

Henrietta lowered herself to her knees in front of me. She gave me a coy smile before hooking her hands on the waistband of my underwear and bringing them down, releasing my cock. It was thick and veiny, waiting for her, and when she saw it, she licked her lips.

Fuck, it was hot.

She took it in her hand, giving it a few soft pumps.

“Harder, baby,” I said.

She tightened her grip, pumping it for another few seconds before bringing her lips to the tip. Moving her hands to my hips, she slowly took me into her mouth. The soft warmth of her tongue on the underside of my tip, the stretch of her lips around my shaft, was almost too much.

I dropped my head back, moaning. “You know how to make me feel good, baby.”

She moaned against my cock, and it took all I had to stay still, not to ram it the rest of the way into her mouth. Instead, I weaved my fingers through the hair at the back of her head, holding it away from her face as she moved over me, sucking and moaning and driving me fucking crazy. And when she looked up at me, like she was checking to see if she was doing a good job...

“Good girl,” I encouraged.

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