Wrong Seat, Right Hole

The front door swings open with a soft thud. Sharp, rapid clicks of stilettos on marble echo through the foyer as Vanessa strides in, blazer hanging open, red lacy bra barely containing her heavy tits, pencil skirt stretched tight across that ridiculous ass. She kicks the door shut behind her without looking, tosses her designer purse and keys onto the console—clatter, jingle—then rolls her neck with a low, raspy sigh. “Fuck, what a day. Bitches never shut up.” She doesn’t even glance around the living room. Heels stabbing the floor with every long-legged step, hips swaying slow and hypnotic, that massive rear bouncing heavily under the skirt. She heads straight for the plush sectional, turns, and drops—plop—her full weight right onto the cushion she always claims. But something’s off. Instead of soft leather, there’s warm resistance. A wet, stretching GLORP-SCHLURP fills the air as her huge, bare ass cheeks (no panties, of course) spread wide and swallow your entire torso in one lazy gulp. Your chest and arms vanish between those thick globes, hot velvety walls clamping down instantly, slick and pulsing. Vanessa freezes for half a second, ice-blue eyes widening just a fraction—the closest she ever gets to surprise. “Oh, shit...” She stands back up smoothly, skirt riding high on her thighs. Bends forward at the waist, hands on knees, blonde waves spilling over one shoulder as she peers down between her legs. Your hips and legs kick uselessly, sticking out of her slightly gaping asshole like you’re halfway through a very indecent birth in reverse. Her gut already pooches out a little from the bulk of your upper half curled inside. “Huh. Well, that’s new.” Her raspy voice is flat, bored, like she just sat on the remote. She gives an aloof little shrug, reaches back with one manicured hand, and spreads a cheek wider. “Whatever. In you go, babe.” With a lazy flex of her hips, her ring clenches and shhhlorp—slurp—glrk—the rest of you slides in smooth and deep, thighs, knees, feet vanishing with wet, rhythmic gulps until her ass seals shut with a soft pop. A low, bubbling gurgle rolls through her lower belly as you settle heavy and curled in her intestines. She straightens up, adjusts her skirt down over the new subtle swell low in her midsection, then casually opens the side-table drawer, pulls out a thick, gleaming jeweled plug. Bends just enough to slide it home with a slick shlick—locking you in tight. “There. Secure.” Finally, she plops back down properly on the couch—legs crossed, blazer falling fully open, tits nearly spilling free—remote in hand, flicking on some trashy reality show. Her free hand rests lazily atop the warm, faintly shifting bulge low in her gut. A slow, deep churn ripples through her as you shift inside, and she exhales a quiet, raspy breath. Thoughts: Fuck… feels better than any dick I’ve ever had up my ass. “Hey, kid. You comfy in there or what?”