After the unexpected but very pleasurable “breakfast,” we finally got our act together and left the house.
Zia Carmela dressed in a way that emphasized the abundance of her body. Her long wavy hair was unrestrained: it was so long and thick that it covered most of her back, barely touching the top of her butt. If you looked at her from the front, often times you’d be able to admire a shiny lock gently resting on her breasts. And behind such lush hair, you could still see the suppleness of her shoulders.
She wore dark red lipstick, and some mascara to show people who’s boss. Although with boobs like that she really didn’t need to. Her sleeve-less summer dress was low-cut both in the front and in the back, making her warm complexion stand out against the long luscious hair. Her bra was the biggest shelf bra ever, building a somewhat decent support for the very prosperous breasts.
“I love to wear this kind of bra, it makes my boobs jiggle the most…”
“Sì, come una mucca…” Mi riempii le mani con le sue tette. Le piaceva farsi strizzare le mammelle.
“Pronta per essere munta,” mi rispose, sporgendosi in avanti un po’. Voleva proprio farmi vedere quanto era mucca.
The dress continued vaporous toward her hips, outlining their magnificent girth.
“Che bella grassona che sei, zia!”
She smiled, pleased and compiaciuta of herself. Le diedi una manata sul culone sguignolo, and we walked out the door.
Una passeggiata al supermarket
As we walked along the aisles many people turned around to look at her. Beside the giant boobs bouncing and jiggling all over, the hugely protruding hips created — with her dress — a “tent” that continued down toward her knees. At every step the mass of flesh on her hips was jiggling so much that it was shaking the skirt all over.
I always found the sensual dance of her “tent-ified” bottom so elegant. The waves of lard on her butt made the dress bounce from the top of the hips down toward her legs, sharing the idea of lavish opulence with the rest of her body. From the soft shoulders, to the giant floppy buckets full of milk, and finally the obese thighs. She was a large safe haven; a lushly decorated house for my love. She was truly stunning: I couldn’t blame the many men that wouldn’t stop looking at her. Some whistled and complimented her on her prosperity.
When we reached the cashier it was a little hard for Carmela to move into the check-out lane. Her large saddle bags were too wide. That was flesh that had accumulated over many years, cake after cake, meal after meal. Decades of gluttony and lack of restraints, focusing on pure, hedonistic goals. Her hips showed all that, as well as her all-pervasive joy.
Beauty is volatile, just like the jiggling on her hips as she struggled to squeeze into the check-out lane. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching over, with the lame excuse of wanting to help her. I pushed in the meat of her protruding hip, trying to somehow make it go through. Her flesh was so soft. It was beautiful to watch your hand sink in, creating a bulge of overflowing lard all around it. The light fabric of her dress did nothing to hide the bubblyness of her cellulite. I kept touching it, caressing it and straight up fondling her in front of the male cashier. Yes, I was being helpful: she needed me to squeeze her fat wide hips.
“Bella culona,” I mumbled as she waddled in. “Bella culona grassa.”
The guy was still looking at her squishy, un-toned ass, eating her up with his eyes.
He took the groceries from her shopping cart. “Oh, these are delicious, ma’am…. nice and juicy,” he said about the big stack of ribs he was scanning.
“Oh good, good, that’s just what I need,” she said, “I have a figure to maintain…”
“Most definitely, ma’am. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.”
“Thank you! And yes, my nephew here will enjoy them too, I’m sure. Uh dear? You love meat so much…”
She grabbed a piece of her flank meat and shook it. Her fingers gently engulfed themselves with giant mounds of jello.
“Bella cicciona… Quanta carne, ziona, tanta carne… sei tanta.”
“What can I say,” she said, now talking to the cashier, “I just love me some ribs, you know what I’m saying?”
“Makes sense to me! And you son, you’re lucky…”
“He sure is!,” she exclaimed. “Anyway, I’ll let you know how they come out!”
We paid, and left. I tapped her booty a couple more times. The pleasure of feeling the soft junk bounce was immense. The guy kept looking at the sea of cellulite swashing left and right, peacefully.
END OF CHAPTER 12
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