An Ideal Husband

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An Ideal Husband
Guys always stare at me, at my big knockers and booty. Sure, the ideal woman is
supposed to be slim and look great in the latest fashions. But what do you think
guys really want? Why are there so many magazines with titles like MAMMOTH
the latest fashions. I wear tight tops and tighter jeans, to show off what I’ve
got. So with all the guys who are interested in me, when some shy little twerp came
up to me at my favorite bar and offered to buy me a drink, my first instinct was to
tell him to scram. But then I figured, hey, I got here early, nobody interesting is
around, so why not let the loser pay for my first rum and cola? Right? So I patted
the stood next to me and resisted the temptation to make a joke about how long a
climb it would be for a shrimp like him or about how they would have to card such a
baby-face. So he hops up alongside me, trying not to gawk at my contours, and
signals for the bartender. That evening it was Turk, a tall Black guy who I like to
chat with. He comes over and I can tell from his look that he’s ready to chase the
little creep away, if that’s what I want. But I give him a wink and say, “My new
friend here wants to buy me a rum and cola.” Then I turn to my admirer and ask,
“What did you say your name was?” He looks at me with these sad puppy eyes, like
he’s expecting to get smacked, and says his name is Willy. Okay, so I have to skip
telling a few more jokes, the obvious one being to ask him if Little Willy has a
little willy. Turk brings me my drink, he and I talk for a minute, and then Turk
turns to Willy after making him wait, and says, “Can I get you something?” The
loser orders himself a glass of white wine. I’m asking myself if he could have
thought of anything less macho, like maybe a Shirley Temple with a paper umbrella in
it. Turk pours him the wine and puts it in front of him, then stands there giving
him a serious look. Willy catches on and reaches for his wallet. He puts a twenty
on the bar and Turk takes it and brings him his change. I’m thinking it’s time to
ditch Willy so before Turk can hand him the bills I say, “That’s your tip, honey.”
Turk ignores Willy and thanks me, saying, “Appreciate it, Kara.” I brush back my
long red hair with one hand and give Turk a smile.

I’m sipping my drink and wondering how far I’ll have to push the midget to get him
to leave. Maybe I should start talking about how I’m a size queen, which is true,
and that I’m not interested in any guy with less than eight thick inches. That’s
when Willy clears his throat, managing to sound like my little niece, and tells me,
“I think you’re really pretty, Kara.” That’s when I spot that bastard Richie coming
in. I had been dating him and the sex was great, but we always got into fights and
finally split, but then the the make-up sex was even better. Since we’re on the
outs again already, I figure I’ll make Richie jealous. He looks at me and I put my
hand on Willy’s thigh, which just about gives the wimp a heart attack. Then I lean
really close to him, so my rack is almost touching him, and say, in a sexy voice,
“Thank you, darling. That’s so sweet of you to say.” Then I cup his weak chin in
my plump palm and give him an air kiss. From the corner of my eye I can see Richie
getting steamed. So I reach over and unbutton the top button on the geeky shirt
Willy is wearing. He almost falls on the floor. Richie turns around and stalks
right back out the door. I laugh. Turk laughs. Willy is clueless. And I still
have to dump him. All of a sudden I get an idea. With a slight jerk of my head I
get Turk to move closer so he can hear what I’m going to say. Then, just loud
enough for the three of us, I inform Willy boy, “You know, we could go to my place
and get to know each other better but there’s one problem.” His face gets really
worried, like I’m going to tell him something terrible, and he says, very concerned,
“What is it, Kara?” I squeeze his soft thigh and tell him, “I’m incredibly horny
right now, but I don’t feel like fucking.” His eyes get big when he hears the
F-word. “The only thing I want tonight is for some guy, like you Willy, to eat my
cunt. I mean to go down there and stay down there until I say ‘no more’. So I
guess you wouldn’t be interested.”

Right when he’s supposed to start stammering and try to find a polite way to escape,
he surprises me, and Turk too, I’m sure, by coming back with, “That would be fine,
Kara.” Willy takes a delicate swallow of his wine, for courage I guess, and goes
on, “I would be honored to be allowed to… do that… for you. I honestly would.”
I’ll admit it. That caught me off guard. I notice Turk is all at once very
interested in a glass that needs cleaning. I tilt my head to the side and say,
“Welllll…”, with the wheels in my mind going around and around. Here’s what I’m
thinking. I love to screw. But I also love to get my pussy eaten. Love it!
Except that when I’m with one of my stallions, one of the Eight Inch Plus Club guys,
it seems like a waste to have them licking and sucking my pink taco when they could
be laying pipe. So here’s this useless Willy, except he might be good for eating
it, and I can’t see him trying to get anything else if I tell him he can’t have it.
Willy seems like he would almost rather go down than get in. Shit, that would be
okay by me. I figured what-the-hell and told him, “Let me have another drink and
I’ll think about it. Might be sweet to have your head between my thighs and keep
you munching carpet for about an hour or so. Sound good?” He got this look like he
had just won the lottery and couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Willy said, with
his voice sounding like he was afraid one wrong word would blow the whole deal, “I
would be so happy to do that for you. I would be… honored. If you’d like I could
buy a bottle before we leave, whatever you’d like, so you could have a drink while
I… did that for you.” Was that too good or what? I nodded and took the last
swallow of my rum and then ordered another. Willy hadn’t finished his wine but I
didn’t really care. By the time I had downed my second one, I had made up my mind.
I wanted to know, “Where’s your ride?” “My…?” “Your car,” I said rather
snappishly. “Where’s your car?” My bitchy tone actually turned him on. I was
starting to see what the big picture was with Willy. He said that his car was right
across the street in the pay lot. I’m used to guys who park on the street, even if
it’s a few blocks away, to save a buck. Cheapskates like Richie. Willy and I stop
in the package goods section and I pick the most expensive bottle of whiskey they
have, one that they keep behind the counter, along with mixer and three kinds of
snacks. He pulls out his plastic and doesn’t even blink as he signs the receipt.

When we get to the lot I’m surprised in a happy way to see that he has a money car.
I wouldn’t like to make the payments on that one. Mind you, it’s not a hot car.
Real conservative. Probably picked it for the safety features. But still it’s a
money car. So he opens the door for me and I slip in, with him trying not to look
like he’s peeking down my top, even though I know that move. Most of the guys I go
with not only ogle my hefties, but they say stuff like, “I’ll bet you can’t go
without a bra” or “How much do those milkbags weigh?”. You know, real classy stuff
like that. So he gets in and starts driving and pretty soon we’re out of the
downtown area and heading into a ritzy neighborhood. More money. Willy the Wimp is
looking better and better. He pulls up to this place with a stone wall around it
and hits something on the dash that makes this metal gate, this big Addams family
gate, swing open. Crap on a cracker! He is SO money. And he wants my ass. Or
rather, he wants to kiss my ass, from the way it sounds. I have no problem with
that. He rolls up to the front door, parks, and rushes around to open my side
again. I could get used to this. I’d miss all those horse cocks I love so much,
miss them in my mouth and pussy, but it would almost be worth it to tap his wallet
for a while. And then I think, yo, why would I have to give up anything. Hello,
Kara. How do you spell ‘cheating’? But later for that. Right now I want to see
the inside of stately Willy Manor. I take his arm like I’m a socialite in some
movie and I can see he’s thrilled to walk me inside. It’s just the two of us inside
his big expensive home. The place isn’t huge but it’s still way bigger than I’m
used to. So he excuses himself to take the bag with the booze and stuff in it to
the kitchen, and then he calls back to me to find out how I’d like my drink. I want
to see more of his place so I holler back, “Let me do it. I know exactly how it has
to be.” The kitchen, no surprise, is as cool as the rest of the place has been. I
make us both drinks, not bothering to ask him if he wants to stick with white wine,
and make them strong. Mine is strong because that’s the way I prefer it, and his is
because I want to get him kind of tipsy, loosened up, so I can get a better feel for
the way he thinks, the whole ‘please let me slobber all over your slit’ business,
and get a clearer idea of how far I can push him and how much I can get him to spend
on me. Like, jewelry much, or at least shopping spree for clothes much. I’m
betting he’d like to go shopping for fancy lingerie with me in the big girl’s
boutique in the mall. And maybe a place I know that sells slutty shoes. Yeah, it’s
all good.

So we sit on the sofa, some big old antique thing, and I make sure I’m close to him,
and he’s obviously not used to real drinks, and he’s still nervous around me, so he
repeats what he said before about me being pretty and how he wants to do whatever
will make me happy, and he adds on that I shouldn’t worry about doing anything for
him. Inside I’m saying, ‘Don’t worry, little man, I’m going to be damned selfish
and say tough shit to your needs’. I don’t want to say that to him yet, even though
I’m still thinking about how me being a bitch back at the bar got him excited. I
ask him if he likes what I’m wearing and, after he says yes, I want him to tell me
WHAT he likes about it. Listening to him fumble his words as he tries to say my
clothes put my boobs and booty on display, without coming right out and saying it,
gets me hot. I like having this weakling under my thumb. The idea of ordering him
around is making me wet, like I might soak right through the front of my panties.
That wet. My nipples are talking to me. Being excited from acting mean is a new
feeling and I like it. So I interrupt him and say, “Willy, are you telling me that
you’ve been getting off on looking at my tits and ass? That you’ve been thinking of
having your hands all over me?” I make it sound like I’m scolding him and he gets
scared and turned on at the same time. I stand up and look down on him, the drink
making me reckless, not caring about if I blow the deal, just caught up by these new
sensations and wanting more of them. I tell him, “You’re getting me angry, Willy.
I think you had better show me you’re sincere. I think you had better make good on
your promise back in the bar.” I pause, like I’m an actress in some big scene, like
I’m getting ready to say something really important, which I suppose I am, before I
announce, “It’s time to go to the bedroom, boy. It’s time for you to EAT — MY —
CUNT.” Then, completely not caring about anything else, I grab his arm, which is
way less developed than what I’m used to, not developed at all in fact, and haul him
to his feet. My gamble pays off and he looks like he’s going to cum in his shorts
right then. But instead he manages to choke out a few words, telling me, “My
bedroom is at the top of the stairs.” We go into a hallway, which leads to an even
bigger room than we had been in (I thought it was the living room but I guess it was
what they call a sitting room, and this new one is the real living room) and on the
far side of that room are these big-assed stairs. I’m still grabbed onto his arm
but he’s walking a step ahead of me, guiding me. I want to be the boss and for him
to know it, so I move faster than him and start right up those marble steps, towing
him along, thinking that he can get a good eyeful of my big rump where he is, he can
watch those hams rubbing up against each other inside my jeans that fit like they
were painted on. I’m imagining how exciting this must all be for him and how I’m
controlling everything, and all that is getting me hotter than I’ve ever been
before, hotter than a roomful of big cocks could, I’m guessing. It’s good to be the

His bedroom isn’t so big, like maybe he sees himself as a mini-man, so he picked a
mini-room, or at least mini for this place. The bed, however, is king-sized. I
stop at the foot of it and put my hands on my big old hips and give him this nasty,
I’m-gonna-make-you-my-bitch look that he just eats up, and I tell him, “You didn’t
bring my drink. Go back down and get me my drink. NOW. And you can bring yours,
too. Get moving.” He races out like a scared rabbit and is back almost before he
left, going as fast as he can but obviously afraid of spilling the booze, especially
mine. He sets them on the night table, real easy like he doesn’t want to make any
false moves, and then stands there with his hands at his sides, waiting to be told
what to do next. This is too much fun. I let him sweat it for a half minute and
then snap at him, “Let’s go. What are you? Lazy? Take my shoes off for me. Get
me out of these jeans. NOW.” He twitches. I sit on the end of the bed. Willy
gets down on one knee, a regular Prince Charming, or maybe Prince Chump, and is
super careful taking off my shoes, while I’m thinking about a couple of new pairs
I’m planning to buy with his money. His hands kind of take too long during the
parts where they have to be touching my feet. Jeez Louise. I’m all sweaty from
having those shoes on and sort of smelly, but I notice him leaning near and taking
a deep sniff, probably of the sticky stuff I get between my toes all the time. As
he reaches up to unbutton my jeans I can see his fingers trembling. This is his
naughty boy dream come true. Hell, I’M his dream woman, all cushiony breasts and
pillow ass. He’s in some sort of private perv heaven. Well, I’m not going to burst
his bubble. I’m going to encourage him and get him deeper and deeper into it. I’m
going to get him to the point where he can’t say no to anything I want, in bed or at
the mall, or else shopping on-line, and to where the thought of me dumping him will
have him too upset to think straight. Yeah, I don’t want him thinking clearly. I
want to empty his mind of everything, like squeezing all the stuff out of a
toothpaste tube, so I can fill it back up with what I want, fill it up kind of with

“Hey, stupid,” I bark at him when he just kneels there, not sure if he needs more
permission or something before he can undo my pants. I lift up my bottom and go on,
“Do it dork. Get my ass uncovered now.” As he begins to work down my jeans, I say,
“I want my pussy bare so you can get busy with it. Get busy with your mouth. You
do know how to eat pussy, don’t you?” I had just figured that he had done it before
but Willy got this blank look and said, “I think so.” I switch to a quiet voice,
all don’t-you-dare-lie-to-me, and want to know, “Willy, are you a virgin?” He
blushes and lowers his eyes before he admits, “Yes, Kara. I’m a… virgin.” How
messed up is that? All kinds of money and he’s never been able to get laid. Bad
for him but way good for me. I tell him, sounding almost kind, “Don’t worry. I’ll
make sure you do it right.” Then, turning back into Wicked Wanda or Evil Elvira or
whoever, I say, “I’ll make you work and work and work until you get it right. Or
else. Understood?” He nods and this time he actually CAN’T find his voice. A pussy
eating rich boy who isn’t able to talk back. Yeah, I’ll take one of those. I get
creative and raise my legs, put my feet in his face, and push him over backwards.
Then I stand up and get a bare foot on either side of his head, nice and close. I
glare down at him and say, “You are going to finish taking off my jeans, remove my
panties, smell my panties, and if you manage to get do those simple jobs correctly,
I maybe MIGHT let you eat my precious pussy. Do you want to eat my pussy?” Off
balance and not hesitating or censoring himself for a change, he confesses, “I want
to eat your pussy more anything else. Please, Kara. I’ll be good. Please let me
eat your… precious… pussy.” I smirk at him and order, “Pull these damned jeans
down to my ankles. And do it right.” I’m not sure what the WRONG way would be but
I figure the more abuse I heap on him the more he’ll obey. He finally gets those
plus-size, wide-in-the-hips jeans down over my full thighs and thick firm calves.
My legs really are shapely, just big at the same time. When they’re down and I step
out of them, he neatly folds them and sets them aside. I grab the back of his head
and pull his face against my crotch. He moans, I suppose from pleasure. Right?
And then I release him and, like he’s in a spell, which I guess he is, Willy uses
his thumbs and first fingers to take the waistband of my panties, pull it away from
my skin ever-so-gently, and begins working them down over my heavy thighs, taking
forever, either because he wants to make it last or because he’s hypnotized by my
body, but finally he has me naked from the waist down. I figure I don’t need to
have the rest of me uncovered to get what I want, and not letting him see my titties
will be one of those small tortures that he must need and that I’m finding I love to
give him. So there.

I tell him, “Get naked for me. Then we’ll begin your first lesson in Pussy Eating
101. And don’t worry, boy. I’m one hell of a teacher.” With that I flop back on
the bed and wriggle myself up toward the huge fancy headboard, which is all hand
carved, it looks like. I don’t bother to close my legs. In fact, I spread them
nice and wide to give loverboy something else to be hypnotized by. The helpless
little virgin gawks at my red bush and pink lips as he struggles to get out of his
clothes. His body is pale and just about hairless. I almost laugh out loud when I
see his tiny penis and equally small balls. It takes a few seconds before I realize
it’s already hard. It’s all the way up and it’s still the littlest I’ve ever seen.
No wonder he’s still a virgin. I don’t know any girl who would want that joke
between his legs. No woman would want to get laid by that and no woman would want
to marry it. That last thought gives me another idea but I file it away, eager to
concentrate on right now and get my orgasms one and two and probably three. Like I
said, I’m a great teacher, even though I’m used to guys who just want to suck my fat
tits and then shove themselves in me, I can still make any guy better in bed.
Sometimes after I split with one and he moves on to some girlfriend of mine, I hear
back from her how good he is in the sack, and when I ask for details it’s always the
shit I’ve taught him. But, I’m thinking as Willy crawls up between my thighs and
gets his face down close to my business, this will be a new type of education for me
to give. I start out by saying, “Stick out your tongue, boy, like you’re going to
lick a lollipop.” Willy does exactly as he’s told. For the next hour. Through
three excellent climaxes for me and no fun for him. At least not the kind of fun
any other guy I’ve been with would expect to get. Instead, after he’s followed
every instruction exactly and I’m knocked out from an overload of pleasure, I tell
him to move forward and hold himself up on his arms. He does, getting into the
missionary position. Then I reach out and squeeze his nipples lightly, making him
gasp. I keep that up until he’s panting. Then I tell him, “All right. You did a
half decent job. So I’m going to give you a reward. You may touch my perfect pussy
with the tip of your miniature dick. Go ahead. Before I change my mind. And only
the tip.” He does it, obviously terrified that he’ll get it wrong and have his
privilege taken away. But I let him do it. I want to get him hooked on my body in
every possible way. Why? For the money? Well, yeah, but my plans have gotten
bigger since I saw his car and house. What I told him about no girl wanting to
marry his tiny dick wasn’t exactly true. I intend to marry it. I assure him, “You
will never ever be allowed to put that miserable excuse for a cock into me.
Understood?” He takes a noisy breath and says, “Yes, Kara.” “But because I like
you a little bit and feel sorry for such a lame ass, I’m going to keep going out
with you and letting you eat my pussy. It’s all you’re good for in bed, isn’t it?”
He closed his eyes and agreed, “Yes. It’s all I’m good for.” Then, without being
prompted, he added, “I will eat your pussy as much as you will let me. Thank you,
Kara.” No, I wanted to say, thank YOU, Willy, because once I have my hooks deep
into you, right into your soul, I’m going to make you marry me and be my bed slave
‘from this day forth’. And I won’t have to miss all that monster cock that I love
so much because I’m going to cheat on you, Willy boy, and tell you that I’m doing
it, and make you go down on me after my dates and clean up the spunk guys pump me
full of with your mouth. I’m going to own you and control every minute of your
wimpy life because it makes my pussy clench just thinking about doing that. You
will be my property and I will be your owner. Richie can me the Best Man at our
wedding and he can fuck me cross-eyed in our honeymoon suite while you watch and,
for all I care, cry your eyes out. Yes, Willy, we are going to have one amazing


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