u/chubbybostonlover

You were 28, chubby and soft-bodied with a big belly, thick thighs, and a heavy jiggling ass, over at your best friend’s house helping with weekend chores like usual. His dad — the big, gruff Black man in his late 40s who’d always treated you like family — was out in the garage working on his old pickup truck. He called you over to hand him tools, acting completely normal.

“Pass me that ratchet, champ,” he said casually, grease on his hands. You stepped closer. While you were bent near the toolbox, he suddenly reached down and rubbed the thick bulge in his work jeans. “Just… give it a taste real quick,” he muttered, voice low.

Before you could pull away, he unzipped, pulled out his big, heavy cock, and grabbed the back of your head. He pushed you down hard onto your knees on the cold concrete right in front of him, between his legs and the truck. In one quick motion he shoved his thick cock past your lips and straight into your mouth, forcing it deep into your throat.

“Fuck… I need this,” he groaned, gripping your head with both greasy hands. He immediately started face-fucking you hard against the workbench, hips slamming forward so his heavy balls slapped your chin with every thrust. Your soft belly and thick body jiggled as he used your throat roughly, the wet gagging sounds filling the garage.

He kept going, breathing heavier. “Shit… my son told me you were gay a while back. I didn’t believe him at first, but… goddamn, I need this so bad right now.” His thrusts grew faster and more desperate, pounding your face while you choked and drooled around his cock.

As he got closer, he started glancing nervously toward the garage door. “Fuck… my wife or my son could walk in any second,” he muttered, voice strained, but he didn’t stop. He fucked your throat even harder, holding your head in place. “I need this… I need this so fucking bad…”

With a deep, shuddering moan he buried himself all the way down your throat and came hard, shooting thick ropes of hot cum straight into your stomach. His cock pulsed and twitched as he emptied himself completely, moaning quietly the whole time.

He finally pulled out slowly, breathing hard, a string of cum and spit still connecting your lips to his cock. He looked down at you on your knees, guilt washing over his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered, voice shaky. He tucked himself away quickly, zipped up, and turned back to the truck like he was trying to steady himself. “Here, hand me that socket wrench again. We still got a lot left to do on this engine.”

He acted like nothing had happened, but his hands were trembling slightly as he worked. You stayed on your knees for a moment longer, cum still in your throat, while he reached for the next tool and continued tinkering, the guilt clear on his face even as he tried to go back to normal.

The chubby Native American woman worked as the ranch cook, her soft heavy belly, wide hips, and massive jiggling ass filling out her simple work dress as she wiped down the big wooden table after supper. She had known the protective Black ranch hand for years — the strong, reliable man who had always looked out for her, helping with heavy lifting, keeping trouble away, and sharing quiet talks that made the lonely ranch feel safer.

That night, with the crew gone, he cornered her in the cookhouse. Just outside the open doorway, her husband Hank sat on the bench under the lantern light, smoking a cigarette and greedily counting a fat stack of coins to pay off his gambling debts.

Before she could back away, the Black ranch hand shoved her forward hard against the table. Her soft belly squished flat against the rough wood, her heavy ass raised high as he yanked her dress up over her waist and ripped her drawers down to her ankles, exposing her fat, plush cheeks and dripping pussy.

“No—please! Hank! Hank, help me!” she screamed, voice cracking in terror.

Hank took a long drag on his cigarette, eyes flicking toward the cookhouse for a moment before he looked away, staring off into the dark while counting his coins.

The Black ranch hand grabbed a fistful of lard from the cooking supplies and slicked his thick, veiny cock until it glistened. He spread her heavy cheeks, pressed the fat head against her tight wet pussy, and rammed in with one savage thrust, burying most of his length inside her.

“Fuck!” he grunted loudly as her cunt clenched around him. He gripped her wide hips with bruising strength and started pounding her mercilessly — long, brutal, balls-deep strokes that slammed his pelvis against her massive wobbling ass again and again. The wet, obscene slapping of flesh filled the cookhouse as her fat cheeks rippled and bounced violently with every violent thrust, her soft belly rubbing raw against the table. His thick cock stretched her pussy wide open, churning the lard and her juices into a creamy mess that squirted and dripped down her plump thighs with every savage plunge.

He yanked his leather belt off, looped it around her neck from behind, and pulled it tight like reins, choking her as he fucked her even harder. “Take this fat cunt,” he growled between heavy, animalistic grunts, yanking the belt to arch her back while his other hand came down in sharp, stinging spanks on her massive jiggling ass — loud cracks echoing as her cheeks turned red and wobbled wildly under the assault. He pounded her pussy without mercy, hips slamming forward so hard the table creaked, his heavy balls smacking against her clit with every deep thrust.

“Hank! Hank!!” she screamed hoarsely through the choking belt, but her husband only exhaled smoke and kept counting.

The rough rape was relentless. His cock speared deep into her cunt, stretching and battering her insides while the belt tightened around her throat, making her vision blur. The spanking continued — hard, repeated smacks on her fat ass that left burning handprints as he railed her. Despite the tears and sobs, the brutal pounding against her g-spot and the overwhelming fullness made her body betray her. A shattering orgasm ripped through her; her pussy spasmed and squirted hard around his thrusting cock, clenching and fluttering wildly as juices gushed down her thighs.

The Black ranch hand felt her cum and groaned louder, pounding through her orgasm with even more savage thrusts, spanking her ass raw and yanking the belt tighter. Finally, with a deep, shuddering roar, he buried himself to the balls and bred her deep, pumping thick ropes of hot cum straight into her womb.

Still buried inside her leaking pussy, he leaned over her trembling, sweat-slick body, loosened the belt slightly, and kissed the side of her neck, then her tear-streaked cheek. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t help it. Thank you for this,” he whispered. “Blame Hank.”

He pulled out slowly, his cum mixed with lard and her juices pouring out of her stretched, ruined pussy and running down her thick thighs. She stayed slumped over the table, broken and sobbing, as Hank outside took another drag on his cigarette, eyes fixed on his coins, never once looking her way.

I’ve seen him around for about a year. Nice guy honestly — the kind of older white guy who chats you up between sets about nothing in particular. He told me once about his grandkids, showed me a photo on his phone of the youngest one at a baseball game. We talked Red Sox for twenty minutes one afternoon, debating the rotation. He asked me once if I fished, said he had a spot up in New Hampshire he went to every summer, offered to take me sometime if I was ever interested.

Normal. Friendly. The kind of guy you nod at across the weight room and feel good about seeing.

Except once, about two months ago, when I was walking to the showers in a pair of shorts that were maybe a size too small, he said something low and almost to himself. Something about my ass. I pretended not to hear it. I thought about it for three days.

It’s late enough that the locker room is mostly empty. I’m sitting on the bench between the rows of lockers, scrolling through my phone after a long session, not paying attention to anything around me. I hear someone come in and I don’t look up.

I hear the locker next to mine open. The bench shifts as someone sits nearby. I’m still on my phone.

Then a hand closes around the back of my neck.

Not my hair. My neck. Firm and immediate and impossible to misread.

I look up and he’s already there, standing right over me, shorts pushed down, and he is thick and heavy and already hard and right at eye level. Big balls hanging low. Clean — freshly showered, skin still warm from the water, no taste of anything but soap. The kind of cock that has clearly gotten what it wanted before.

“Open your mouth.”

“What — I —”

He doesn’t wait. His hand tightens on the back of my neck and he steps forward and pushes the head of his cock against my lips and I let them part. I let them. My mouth opens and he slides in and we both make a sound at the same time — his a low loud groan, mine muffled and involuntary and embarrassingly real.

“There it is,” he breathes. “Been waiting on that.”

I grab his thigh with both hands. Not pushing back anymore. Just holding on. He rocks his hips forward another inch and groans again, deeper this time, the sound bouncing off the tile, and I moan around him because I can’t help it and the vibration makes him grunt louder.

“Relax your jaw.”

I do.

He pauses for just a moment and looks down at me and his expression shifts — something desperate in it, raw and unguarded.

“My wife hasn’t touched me in two years,” he says. Low. Almost embarrassed by it. “Two years. You have no idea what that does to a man.” He exhales hard. “I need this. I need you.”

And then his hand tightens on the back of my head and he pushes forward steadily and my jaw opens wider and he bottoms out against the back of my throat and lets out this long guttural grunt that fills the whole locker room. I moan again — louder this time — and his whole body shudders in response.

“Fuck. That mouth.”

I’m fully in it now. Eyes half closed, hands settled on his thighs not to push him away but to feel him move. He’s clean and warm and thick and every time he pushes forward I make a sound I didn’t plan on making and every time I do he groans like it’s the best thing he’s felt in years. Maybe it is.

Then he starts to really move.

Long, deliberate strokes. Pulling back until just the tip is in my mouth and then pushing all the way forward again, and every time he bottoms out he makes a noise — a grunt, a groan, sometimes just a sharp exhale through his teeth — loud and unhurried like the empty locker room is his living room. Like anyone who walked in would be the one who had to explain themselves. I’m moaning steadily now, can’t stop, the sound muffled around him but audible enough that it echoes faintly off the tile and he can hear every bit of it.

“Look at that,” he mutters after a while, looking down at me. “Big Black ass and a mouth like that.” He shakes his head slowly. “Should’ve done this months ago.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, breathing hard, face completely open.

“I’ve been watching you train,” he says between breaths. “The way you work your glutes. All those hip thrusts and squats.” A low grunt. “You’re a bottom aren’t you.” It’s not a question. “I want to find out. Next time I want to test that out.”

I look up at him and don’t deny it.

He groans like that’s the best answer I could have given him and pushes back in and I moan around him immediately and his hands tighten in my hair.

He picks up the pace. Both hands in my hair now, really using me, and the sounds in the locker room are obscene — his deep rhythmic grunts mixing with my muffled moaning, a long low groan from him when I gag and tighten, a sharp grunt when he pulls back and feels the suction, my own sounds getting louder and less controlled the longer it goes. Two years of nothing coming out all at once and I am taking every bit of it and making noise the whole way through.

He slows down near the end. Longer strokes, deeper, his breathing ragged. His hands tighten hard in my hair and he pulls me forward one final time — all the way, nose against his stomach, his heavy balls against my chin — and he finishes with this long loud groan that echoes off every surface in the room. I moan through it, low and sustained, feeling every pulse of it. Completely shameless on both ends.

He stays there. Lets me feel every second of it.

When he finally steps back he’s breathing hard, chest heaving, a satisfied flush across his face. He tucks himself away slowly, unhurried. Grabs his bag from the locker.

He looks down at me — flushed, jaw aching, eyes bright — and he nods once.

“Thank you,” he says. Like I did him a favor. Like this was always going to happen.

He pauses at the door.

“You still interested in that fishing spot?” he says. Completely straight faced.

And then he’s gone.

I sit there for a moment in the empty locker room. Then I reach down and wrap my hand around myself — I’ve been hard since somewhere in the middle of all of it — and I grab my phone with the other hand and open my messages and find her name. The one I tell everything to.

you’re not going to believe what just happened to me

I’m already typing before I’ve figured out how to explain any of it. My hand is moving slow and steady and I’m still tasting him and I can still hear every sound he made in this room and I don’t even know where to start.

remember that older white guy I told you about? the one who said something about my ass?

The three dots appear almost immediately.

I start from the beginning.

Medieval England – 1193: The riverbank was quiet that afternoon. Elara, a 25-year-old peasant woman with full breasts, wide hips, and strong legs from years of labor, was kneeling in the shallow water washing clothes. She and her husband lived on Lord Blackthorn’s lands, yet they had deliberately hidden their recent marriage from the lord’s men so they could avoid his claimed right of jus prima nocta — the lord’s ancient privilege to take any peasant bride on her wedding night.

They had deceived him. And now they would repent.

Hooves thundered nearby. Sir Reginald, a tall, powerful Black knight with smooth dark brown skin, rode up with two Black retainers. His eyes narrowed when he recognized Elara.

Before she could flee, he dismounted, grabbed her long brown hair, and threw her down hard into the cold mud. Elara screamed.

Her husband stood frozen a short distance away, axe in hand, but the two armed retainers drew swords and glared at him. He dared not move. Other peasants along the river quickly looked away, busying themselves with their tasks, terrified of sharing her fate.

“You and your husband thought you could cheat your lord of his rights,” Sir Reginald snarled, his deep voice cutting through the air. “You will repent today.”

He ripped open the front of her rough woolen dress, exposing her full, heavy breasts to the cool air. His two retainers — both strong men — seized her wrists and pinned them above her head in the mud, holding her down firmly.

Elara screamed and thrashed as Sir Reginald forced her legs apart. He freed his thick cock and thrust into her violently, burying himself to the hilt in one savage stroke. She cried out in panic as he began raping her roughly on the riverbank, his powerful brown-skinned body slamming against her soft flesh.

He yanked her hair hard, pulling her head back while pounding her deeper. His free hand mauled her exposed breasts, squeezing and slapping them as he fucked her without mercy.

“You will learn your place,” he grunted. “This cunt belongs to your lord.”

Despite the humiliation and pain, the relentless deep thrusting forced Elara’s body to betray her. Her first involuntary orgasm crashed through her — her pussy clenched tightly around his thick cock as she screamed, tears streaming down her face. Her hips bucked shamefully against him.

Sir Reginald laughed cruelly. “Whore. Even you know who owns you now.”

He fucked her harder, driving her into the mud, until finally, with a deep growl, he pinned her face down into the wet earth with one powerful hand choking her. He buried himself as deep as possible and came violently, flooding her with thick, hot seed.

When he finished, he pulled out and stood up.

“She is yours to breed as well,” he told his retainers. “Let her repent fully.”

The first retainer took his place immediately, slamming into her cum-filled pussy while still pinning her wrists. He fucked her brutally, mauling her breasts and leaving fresh scratches down her sides. Elara came again against her will, sobbing in the mud.

The second retainer went last, pounding her timidly but desperately, a virgin he felt bad for her, but the law was the law. while pulling her hair and slapping her ass red. He too emptied himself deep inside her. Not daring to disobey his commander.

When they were done, Sir Reginald looked down at her defeated body lying in the mud — dress torn open, breasts exposed and marked, thighs bruised, and thick cum leaking from her abused pussy.

“Tell your husband this is the price of defiance,” he said coldly. “I’ll be back.”

The three Black men mounted their horses and rode away, leaving Elara trembling and broken on the riverbank. Her husband finally dared to approach, but he could only stare in helpless horror at what had been done to his wife.

It was their 5th wedding anniversary at Bella Vista. Sarah, a soft and voluptuous woman with wide hips and full curves, had been looking forward to this night for weeks. She and her husband Mark were enjoying their favorite meal — creamy lobster risotto with seared scallops and warm garlic bread — when the armed robber burst in.

The Speedster arrived in a red-and-gold blur and instantly neutralized the threat. The chubby Black superhero, belly straining against his costume, scanned the silent restaurant and pointed directly at Sarah.

“Hero’s right,” he announced smugly. “I saved all of you. I pick my prize.”

He stepped to their table and violently swept everything off — plates, risotto, wine glasses crashing to the floor. Mark sat frozen in terror. The entire restaurant looked away, pretending not to see. This was the price of safety.

Sarah trembled. “Please… it’s our anniversary. Not in front of him—”

The Speedster grabbed her face and forced a deep, sloppy kiss on her. His thick tongue invaded her mouth aggressively while his hand groped her big ass. She whimpered into the kiss, trying to pull away.

He broke it and shoved her down to her knees right beside the table.

“Start by eating my ass. Show some gratitude to your hero.”

He turned, dropped his pants, and pulled her face between his thick cheeks. Sarah resisted, shaking her head, but he gripped her hair tightly and ground back against her tongue.

“Lick it deeper. Get your tongue in my hole like a good girl.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she was forced to rim his ass. After a long minute, he turned around, still holding her head, and shoved his thick, hard cock straight into her mouth.

“That’s it. Suck this hero dick.”

He face-fucked her roughly on her knees, his heavy belly slapping against her forehead as he pumped deep into her throat, making her gag and drool. Sarah’s hands pushed weakly at his thighs.

He finally pulled out, strings of spit dripping from her lips, and yanked her up by her hair.

“Bend over the table.”

He bent her over the cleared table, flipped her dress up over her wide hips, and ripped her panties down. Without warning, he slammed his thick cock into her pussy in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck, this married pussy feels good,” he groaned. “Say it. Tell me how much you love this dick.”

Sarah sobbed. “Please… not here…”

He slapped her ass hard, already reddening the soft flesh. “Say it.”

“I… I love your dick…” she whimpered.

“Louder.”

“I love your dick!” she cried.

He started pounding her hard, his chubby body slapping loudly against her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back while choking her throat with his other hand, cutting off her air as he thrust deeper. Sarah’s eyes watered.

He released her throat only to rake his nails hard down her back, leaving long red scratches. Then he slapped and gripped her ass brutally, bruising the skin as he railed her.

“This pussy belongs to me now. I’m gonna breed you deep.”

Sarah’s body betrayed her. Her first orgasm crashed through her. She slapped both hands over her mouth, muffling her loud moans as her thick thighs shook. He kept pulling her hair and choking her in turns, forcing more unwanted pleasure.

“Yeah, cum on this hero cock. Keep saying it while you’re creaming.”

“I love your dick… I love your dick…” she repeated between muffled, humiliated cries as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her.

He fucked her faster and harder, nails digging into her hips, until he buried himself deep and unloaded, pumping thick ropes of cum into her womb, breeding her right there on the table.

He pulled out slowly, watching his seed leak down her thighs. Then he took a marker from a waiter’s apron and wrote his phone number across her bruised ass cheek.

“Text me when that pussy wants more. Happy anniversary, baby.”

In a red blur, he was gone.

Sarah stayed bent over the ruined table, back scratched raw, ass bruised and marked, cum dripping from her. Her hands still covered her mouth as quiet sobs shook her body. Mark hadn’t moved. The other diners slowly resumed eating as if nothing had happened.