My big, fat, tiefling christmas

Chapter 2

My clothes were swiftly scattered around the room in a tornado of nudity, and I practically flung myself at his cock. He let out a pained gasp, and belched several times as I put pressure on his stomach. “Careful, baby girl,” he groaned, “I’m really full.”

“Mmm, I know,” I whispered and lowered myself onto his erection. He filled me to my limit, especially now when my pussy was swollen with desire. His belly was an irresistible altar before me, and I, an eager worshipper. My hands flitted over the vast round expanse of fat, brick-red flesh, squeezing, massaging, scratching my nails over the taut skin to make him hiss in pleasure-pain.

“My girl,” he cooed in a low voice, “My perfect girl.” The sweet inanities of lovemaking streamed from his lips, and a similar voluble monologue came from me.

“My king, my love, my perfect, big man.”

“Baby girl, princess, my darling little Millie.”

Back and forth, we traded pleasure and love with every word, every shift of my hips, every half-thrust of his. Basil was too full to move much, and winced and belched every time I bounced up and down on his vast body. His fat pad jiggled against my sex. My whole body felt almost painfully hot. I’d been needing this release for half a day now, and my flesh felt almost too sensitive, achingly sensitive.

My pussy fluttered, squeezing his lovely cock, and his halting gasp made me squeeze him together. “You gonna come for me, princess?”

“I’m allowed?”

“I insist. Come for me, Millie,” he said. His voice was as dark as his eyes, as rich as his cooking, as sweet as his musky scent. My head rolled forward to rest on his belly, inhaling his fragrance, kissing his fat. He was my ruler in every way, and the more of him that filled my senses, the greater the pleasure I felt. Arcs of electric lust crackled, shooting down to my clit, and I mashed my face into his sweet fat and howled my ecstasy against him.

From miles away, I heard him groan, “Millie! Oh, Millie!” A gush of hot seed filled my core. Our pleasure seemed to last for ages, our moans and cries blending like our bodies.

In the tender aftermath, my big man held me tight against his side. His belly gurgled, digesting the feast we’d enjoyed, while I massaged his stomach. “Thanks, love.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For letting me come.”

He chuckled. “Maybe one of these days I’ll have the willpower to go more than a day without seeing you come, but that isn’t today.”

“Thank goodness,” I said, planting a kiss on his plump cheek.

He kissed me back, then pulled his glasses off and set them on the table. “I need a little nap,” he said.

“I was thinking,” I said tentatively.

“Yeah?” he replied without opening his eyes.

“Maybe we could make this our tradition,” I whispered in his ear.

He turned and met my gaze, beaming. “I’d love that, our very own Christmas tradition.” Our lips met for a slow, sweet kiss, and happiness wrapped me up, warm and soft and loving.

Just like Basil.