BBWSex4u: BBW Erotic Stories: Archive through July 16, 2012: My Big Fat Greek MILF, part 1

MY BIG FAT GREEK MILF, by Alan Riggs (Mr. 12")

A few mornings later I trudged back to the Hotel Cosmo. It was raining heavily. I was tired—not just from walking around but also from the cheap, greasy food I had eaten. My umbrella had broken in the strong winds and I was half-wet. All I wanted to do was go back to my room and go to sleep. Nothing else was on my mind at that moment, certainly not sex.

When I got up to the reception to collect my key I was in for a surprise. It must have been a new woman, or someone I had not noticed before. She was standing behind the reception desk. She was not so unusual for a Greek woman in appearance; long curly black hair which flowed like a lionesses’, wild curls which hung all over her shoulders, the sides of her face, her neck and just touched the beginnings of her breasts. Beneath her tight pink shirt I saw the outline of her bra straining to contain the hefty pale olive mounds; they looked like a good 38D. They bounced rebelliously through her pink shirt when she reached for the key.

This was most unexpected.

I began to breathe hard, feeling acute embarrassment. My problem—as you might have guessed already—is that I am more than a bit endowed. And if it gets too hard everyone will notice. I can’t even hitch my hard-on against my beltline because it would peep out the top of my pants. So I am in a fucked-up position with a public erection. And I don’t have my coat to hide it.

The receptionist bent forward to retrieve something from underneath the desk. As she bent I could not help but see her cleavage. Luscious mounds of peaches and cream flesh quivering inside her flimsy cheap bra.

I pulled back from the desk, and tried to shield my hard-on with the umbrella. I was intensely worried that she might have seen it. I didn’t trust her not to call the police and have me arrested on a false rumor of sexual harassment or even sexual assault. As I well knew the Greek police were fantastically corrupt, and would believe anything a Greek woman told them concerning a sexual assault, real or imaginary. The receptionist, however, only barely glimpsed my crotch and then looked up at me with a neutral face.

She was an attractive woman in a rugged sort of way. Aside from her long, cascading black hair, she had a light olive complexion, high cheek bones, thick black arched eyebrows, dark-brown eyes; a rather long, hooked nose with slightly flaring nostrils, and medium-sized, cherry red lips that looked like they were in a perpetual sneer. She looked more Turkish or Armenian than Greek, I thought, and did not seem at all pleasant to deal with.

“Wait,” she told me, nodding, while she moved from around the reception desk and headed towards one of the hotel’s ground-floor rooms.

As she moved away from the desk I saw everything else. She had an enormous butt packed into those faded, skin-tight jeans. I loved the way it moved; she moved it like a black woman, shifting the cheeks from side to side in a casually lascivious way. She looked to be about 5’3”, thick and petite, and from a hardy race that seemed to me to be built for fucking. Years and years and years—millennia, even—of wild, savage, uninhibited fucking, with absolutely no holes barred.

Whether she would fuck me, however, I gave utterly no thought to. I had fucked Greek chicks before, of course. Yet I already knew how standoffish most Greek women were towards non-Greeks.

While she was dawdling in the rooms I decided to get a soda out of the coke machine next to the reception desk. I sat down for awhile and sipped my soda and flicked idly through my passport, looking at the various stamps in it. So many places, I thought…so much frivolity, drinking, time-wasting and sheer nonsense. And that was just my day-job with the fucking news agency. The rest was just cheap sex, some great, others boring, occasionally a disaster that I didn’t bother writing on my score card.

The receptionist returned and I saw her from the front. Those wide hips looked just as good from the front as they did from the back. Hell, I could even see that big ass of hers from the front, bulging rebelliously out the sides. The tightness in those jeans produced a noticeable “camel-toe” in the receptionist’s crotch area, one I only discreetly stared at. Thankfully my hard-on had diminished by then, so I felt free to stand up and face her at the desk. Unfortunately, my fucking dick had slipped out of my underwear and was up against my thigh, separated from the receptionist by a mere sliver of linen. I could feel it, so I vainly tried to shield my half-exposed dick with the still-wet umbrella.

I placed my passport down on the desk, not looking at her.

“Mister?” she snapped, “Excuse me? Who are you?”

I looked up at the receptionist. The expression on her face was a frosty one, an expression that melted so fast I almost choked on my Pepsi. I had never seen such a severe emotional switchover. She lowered her heavy eyelids, and brushed her hair back. She raised a brow.

“Where you staying in this hotel?” she said, quietly.

“Room 32,” I breathed. “Why?”

“I think this room has not been cleaned today,” she says.

“Uhm—no, it hasn’t, I was sleeping all day,” I lied.

“You want the room cleaned?”

“Sure.”

“I will come and clean your room,” she says, looking at me. “What is your name?”

“Alan,” I say. “Alan Riggs.”

“Irene,” she says. “Irene Papagikas.”

Irene nodded towards me as I walked away from the reception and boarded the elevator for the third floor.

While in my room, I sighed and fell down on the bed. I had not slept the entire night. From the moment my head hit the pillow sleep overtook me. I dozed off and dreamt I was walking in the hallway of my old high school. I saw all my old girlfriends walking around clutching their books and shaking their big, beautiful asses in skin tight jeans. A white girl I used to know, Melanie, had the finest shape on a fifteen year old girl I ever knew. I saw her sashaying past me in the hallway in my dream; I reached out for her but could not grab her. I moved on in her direction until I found the bathroom, opened up the stall door of the bathroom, sat down and instead of taking a ••••, I whipped out my dick and lowered my head on it.

I began to suck my own dick. I was good at it, it felt good, but I kept being interrupted by some ••••••• knocking on the stall. “Fuck off,” I shouted, when I lowered my head back onto my own dick. The knocking commenced once more and soon I found myself not in the bathroom stall of my old high school but in some two-star hotel in Athens, Greece. The knocking, however, was still happening. It was on my door.

“Who the fuck is it?” I growled, partly out loud, not aware of who was on the other end.

I opened the door and found that black haired receptionist I had spoken to earlier downstairs. I vaguely remembered that I had asked her to clean my room. However, she did not have any cleaning gear with her.

“What’s going on?” I snapped, still half-asleep.

The woman’s black hair was unkempt, all over her face. She looked sweaty. In fact, she looked like she’d been lying in bed all afternoon masturbating. She even smelled like it. Oh, Alan, I thought, that’s just your hyper-sexed imagination. I know you have a sex addiction problem but don’t think that ALL the women in the world want to suck your dick. Yet I smelled the odor, nonetheless. It sure was familiar: a mixture of cheap perfume and some strangely musky, fishy odor.

“Hi,” she panted. “Remember me?”

The woman glimpsed down at my crotch and then up at me, intently.

“This must be part of the dream,” I told myself, inside.

“I think you asked if you could clean my room,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Forget about it.”

“So why are you here, then?”

“I came to see you,” Irene said.

“Why?’

“Because I know,” she panted. “I saw. Down in the lobby, I saw you trying to hide something from me. You know that is not nice.”

All of a sudden I grew scared. Irene drew in closer, breathing.

“Why you need to hide it?” She lowered her voice considerably. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“Hide what?”

“You know what, Mistar Alan Riggs. You know and I most certainly do know.”

Irene moved into my room, clumsily, as if she were in a funk of some kind, a fever.

“Alan,” she panted, “I don’t care about the room. I saw it. I saw what you have and I want it. I want it NOW.”

“What—“

“I saw your dick,” she whispered, obscenely. “You have a big fat one. I like it! Yes! You can have me!”

“Why?”

She backed me further into the room and turned around and locked the door. She moved across the room swishing her big round ass and then sat down on the bed, facing me, looking up at me with those big dark eyes and that mouth, the mouth whose sneer now seemed a rather sad, pained expression.

“I always wanted to fuck a black man,” she pants, “especially one as sexy as you, with a big, big, BIG cock. Yes!” She reached forward and squeezed me. She leaped up, grabbed me around the neck, and kissed me wildly all over. “Do what you want,” she whispered in my ear. “You can have me. I will do anything. Please, fuck me. Fuck everything! My mouth, ass and pussy! Please, I am all yours.”

My mind was in a whirl; she was still babbling as she lifted her pink shirt above her head, letting her big tits bounce in the flimsy white bra…they looked like they were going to pop right out… “And please, don’t use condoms, don’t worry, I am clean, I don’t fuck much, most of the men in this city is malakas, don’t like real women like me! Oh, God, please, please…Alan….fuck me! Fuck my mouth, pussy and •••••••, I want your creamy milk ….Mmmmm…”

Irene withdrew from me, stood up and hastily peeled off her light-blue jeans. I watched avidly as I saw it jiggling about, a mass of light-olive, oceanic flesh with slight dimples and creases, of course—but it was so beautiful, I could have eaten it. I was instantly excited. Moreover, the pink thong panties wedged between her massive butt cheeks also whetted my appetite; and when she turned around, I saw that her pitch-black pubic hair was so voluminous it peeped through every single part of her panties, running up in not-so-light hairs to her navel.

Mind you: I have always loved Mediterranean women, especially the dark, full-blooded, sultry kind; loved their full, voluptuous bodies, heavy breasts, maternal hips and those hefty, stupendous buttocks that could engulf a man. Irene was no exception. The size of her ass amazed me; it looked like an enormous heart turned upside down. I had fucked many a round-assed woman before, of course: my ex-wife boasted a solid 42 inches. But this one took the cake. I thought, in my growing desire, that it must have been nearly twice as big—yet on recollection I think it must have been a good 49 inches. In other words, perfect. Irene was an ass-lover’s wet dream.

Irene’s breasts were not enormous, but they were big. She had reddish-brown nipples the size of shortbread cookies; the tips were the size of my pinkie. Irene looked up at me struggling to get out of my clothes and giggled, then reached forward to undo my trousers and unbutton my shirt. I vaguely remember she muttered something about me having nice taste in clothes. Yeah, I do. But I have better taste in women.

Irene quietly puckered her lips and opened her mouth. I reached my hand forward and lowered my face toward hers, and kissed her gingerly. Then I opened my mouth and found her tongue readily meeting mine. I felt her hand stroking my belly beneath my shirt, stroking it ever lower, until I felt her sharp fingernails gently scraping my pubic hairs. She mumbled something in Greek that made my blood boil. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, quietly, in English, drawing back to get a look at my hardening dick, bulging out. She gently brushed her black hair back across her ear, all the while mumbling, “You must be fucking huge.”

This was music to my ears.

Irene’s breasts filled the palms of my hands to capacity. And they were firm and ripe, unlike the saggies so many Athenian women had. I gently took one of her breasts and brought it up to my mouth and suckled it gently; I licked the tip, sucked the nipple. Irene giggled. She put her hand around my neck. Once again she drew her lovely face to mine, and sucked my tongue. Then she lowered her hand into my underwear and caught ahold of my dick.

“Ooooh,” she gasped, “It is bigger than I thought. How big is your dick, baby?”

“You’ll see,” I whispered.

When I pulled it out, Irene’s lovely lips fell open; she put her hand to her mouth.

“Oh, my goodness,” she cooed in that sexy, throaty Greek accent, which seemed to grow sexier the more I heard it. She carefully kneeled before me, fondled my thickening penis, her dark eyes smoldering with increasing lust. She moistened her thick lips, red with cheap lipstick, with her tongue.

Irene took my dick up to her mouth and kissed it. Then she rubbed it all over her face. She muttered something in Greek, and then started to stroke it. “Oooh, my goodness,” she said. “So much, so much, this makes me crazy!”

She licked it, then giggled girlishly, moaned, and licked it again. Her left hand moved towards my balls. She licked all around the length of my now-solid dick as her left hand gently stroked the balls. She sucked all the way down towards the hairy root of my dick at the very base, sucked all around the base and down, down, down, and started sucking my balls, one after the other. I was afraid she might suck them too hard because she was so excited; she was rolling them around in her mouth, licking them like chocolate Easter eggs. She licked all around my genitals with such force I thought she would bite. She does not bite. But goddamn, could she suck! Irene Papagikas had lost her fucking mind over my balls. I was not surprised. Most of my lovers go crazy over my big balls. They are 4 inches in length, and the freaky reputation I have of shooting epic loads is well-deserved: even on a bad day, I can easily fill a champagne glass by casually masturbating into it. This used to bother me as a teen, but now I definitely see its advantages.

“Alan,” Irene panted, lifting her head up from my dick and showing how ridiculous her mouth looked with the lipstick smeared all over it, “you like to fuck my ass?”

“Without a doubt,” I said. “I think you have the most wonderful ass in all Athens.”

“Oh, no, it’s too big,” she said.

“Not to me, it ain’t,” I assured her, feeling the lust really kick in and my dick hardening just a little bit more, pushing my appetite closer towards another orgasm. “I love every big, fat, juicy inch of your ass. Please, Irene—“

“Oh, yes!”

“I promise,” I panted, grasping her left buttock, then her right, “that I will do the nastiest things with your ass. But you will enjoy it so much you will never feel ashamed of what I will do to you, baby.”

“What will you do to me, Alan?”

I spread open the cheeks of her buttocks with both hands and dug the insides. Such a pretty sight, I thought, seeing the darkening between her fat olive-colored butt-cheeks and the little puckering brown anus contracting down below. Her pussy was incredibly hairy; it heated my blood to see that thick patch of black pussy hair splattered everywhere. I felt I was going to unload such a massive river of come that that black briar patch was going to be whiter than snow.

“Ohhhh…Alan?…Alan??”

Don't stop!!!!!! Great story, great writing. You have me so hard, please continue.