Turned Out! (BBW Erotic Romance) Read online

  TURNED OUT! (BBW Erotic Romance)

  By Lexy Harper

  Copyright © 2010 Lexy Harper

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Ebonique Publishing, London

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book contains mature content. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18

  All characters are 18 years or older, non-blood related and all sexual acts are consensual.

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Turned Out!

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from Seducing the Billionaire: The Complete Series

  Other titles by Lexy Harper

  Prologue

  LORNA

  She watched as he approached her friend Marlena and bent to whisper in her ear. Marlena must have heard him over the loud music, because she nodded her head and whispered something back to him.

  He turned and walked towards the bar.

  Marlena turned and rolled her eyes at Lorna. He was cute in the way that only shorter men could be. Lorna knew her friend well enough to know that he was so not Marlena’s type.

  He returned with a bottle of beer in one hand and a glass, filled with clear liquid and a couple of ice cubes, in the other. When he handed Marlena the glass, she took it and placed it next to her barely-touched one on the small table she and Lorna were sharing, without a word of thanks.

  He stood next to Marlena’s chair, as if trying to build up his courage, while she glanced around the club, looking bored. Finally he turned and asked her to dance. She grudgingly accepted and let him lead her to the dance floor.

  She danced with him as though it was an unpleasant chore, and in a way that would let anyone watching know that he wasn’t her man.

  After a couple of dances, she obviously decided that she’s done enough to repay him for the drink and danced with someone else.

  His embarrassment was visible as he turned to ask Lorna to dance with him.

  She accepted...though ordinarily she would have refused.

  He had first chosen Marlena—who was four dress sizes smaller—so he must prefer skinny women.

  He’d also shown a complete lack of manners by not offering to buy her a drink too, when he’d made the offer to Marlena. Lorna would have declined—she had enough money to buy her own drinks and also she wasn’t stupid enough to let a man buy her a drink without accompanying him to the bar—but she wondered if he was stingy or just broke.

  There was an air of defeat about him that spoke to her.

  He looked in desperate need of some tender loving care and she had a lot to give.

  He would be her next project, she decided there and then.

  Some men learn to love when they’re shown love; some take all the love they can get and give nothing in return.

  She was willing to give Bryce the chance to prove which of the two kinds he was.

  She was also strong enough to drop him like a hot potato, if he turned out to be the latter.

  Turned Out!

  When Bryce is in a good mood he calls me ‘Mr Shorty’. When he’s pissed off he foregoes the formality and just calls me plain ‘Shorty’. I hate the name calling. He is only 5’ 6” and should be the last person to call anyone or anything vertically challenged. But as they say, ‘familiarity breeds contempt’.

  He and I are too close for comfort. I would leave him if I could, but the farthest I can get my head away from him is eight and a half inches when I’m hard and a little less when I’m not.

  My other end is attached to him, you see.

  Yes, I’m his dick.

  I’m the thing that dangles between his legs and rules him in most situations.

  He has no respect for me and sometimes I have to teach him a lesson.

  He and I have completely different taste in women. He likes skinny, model types, but give me a BBW any day of the week. When I give them some attention, they give it back a hundredfold. They give head with gusto, the same way they eat food. And can keep up with me because they have stamina. Skinny women aren’t anywhere as accommodating. Most of them hold out until Bryce buys them dinner and then they just pick at it because they are watching their weight. Don’t know why—there’s nothing there to see! Some of them have to be dined several times before they will free up and often they aren’t worth the wait. Most big girls cook for him—some have even taken him out for meals. And they almost never make a fuss about giving him some pussy.

  Bryce wears two-inch inserts in his shoes to make up for his height deficit, but most women don’t realize that he is suddenly shorter once he gets them home and I get to work.

  Take this evening for instance. We walked into his favourite nightclub and he immediately walked up to this Ferrari of a woman, completely ignoring the chubby Ford Fiesta beside her. The Ferrari grudgingly told him her name was Marlena, and after he got her a double vodka and tonic, though the one in her hand was barely touched, she grudgingly agreed to dance with him.

  He and I dance with taller women all the time. The nice ones spread their legs a bit, reducing the height discrepancy and allowing a brother to get right up in between their thighs. She kept her legs together like her upper thighs were the only things keeping her pussy from escaping and running out of the club. Anyway, after we danced a couple of tunes she let Bryce go, went back to her table and downed one of the drinks. The next thing we knew, a brother almost twice Bryce’s size and height, came over and asked her to dance. She downed the other drink, jumped up and left Bryce without a word. She had danced with Bryce all prim and proper like she was a Sunday school teacher; she danced with the tall fucker like she was a dancehall queen.

  By then all the women in the club had hooked up with other men, leaving the sweet Fiesta and an older woman the only ones without partners. Bryce grudgingly asked the Fiesta to dance. She readily agreed, but she was taller than she looked sitting on the stool, sipping her glass of brandy or some similar amber liquid. Her four-inch heels made her at least two inches taller than Bryce and having unsuccessfully tried to get his arms comfortably around her, he dropped them to his side. I could tell that he was regretting asking her to dance. But the Fiesta, probably sensing that he would leave her in the middle of the song, wrapped her arms around his neck, spread her legs nicely apart and placed her fat clit right on top of me and started to move to the music.

  By then I was as hard as granite.

  Lorna, a beautiful name I thought personally when she introduced herself later, gave me the sweetest dry sex I’ve ever had. If she had been wearing a mini or something more convenient than jeans, my man Bryce would have whipped me out and had her right on the dance floor. I know that because he has done it before in that same club. The lights are so low you can barely recognize faces. A couple of times Bryce has pulled women he thought were good looking and when he got them outside under the street lights he almost ran and left them. The club is known for two particular types of women: skinny and ugly, or chubby. The skinny ones were always ugly, guaranteed. The chubby ones were often pretty, but there were no guarantees.

  Lorna was good looking, thank Go
d.

  After the party, Bryce offered her a lift home. She had planned to share a cab home with Marlena, but the skinny Minnie went home with the big, muscle-bound fucker and left her girlfriend stranded.

  On the way to her house Lorna put her hand in Bryce’s trousers and released me. Phew! I had been dying, confined in his boxer shorts. She had nice, spongy hands. Their softness felt so good against my hardness I nearly came as she stroked me.

  “Do you want to come up for a while?” she asked when Bryce pulled up in front of her end-of-terrace house.

  “I live with somebody,” he lied.

  In other words he was telling her that he would fuck her but couldn’t offer any commitment. This is what he does to bigger women all the time. Yet, they are the ones who have always treated us the best.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me,” she responded coolly.

  “Alright, I’ll come up for a short while.”

  As soon as they’d entered the door, Bryce pulled her back against him.

  “Take off your heels,” he instructed, already reaching around to unzip her jeans. She kicked off her shoes and made to turn and face him. Instead he pulled her thong and jeans off together and kept her facing away from him.

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked

  “Yes,” he replied and quickly pulled one from his pocket and capped me.

  Bending her over in front of him, he plunged me inside her with one stroke.

  Her pussy was wet but tight.

  “Aah! Aa-ah! Easy!” she moaned, but Bryce kept hold of her hips and kept banging away.

  It’s the one thing I hate about him. If he pulls a skinny woman, he treats her like glass—lots of foreplay and kisses and tender lovemaking. Whenever he pulls a big woman it’s like he wants to punish her for being fat—little or no foreplay, a kiss or two only if she insists, and rough sex.

  But she was tight. I couldn’t hold out for long. Soon I was shooting into the condom and imagining it was into her warm, dark depths.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked as Bryce zipped up his flies and prepared to leave. “I’ve got some chicken breasts marinating for tomorrow. I can throw them under the grill or pan-fry them. They’ll be ready in less than half an hour.”

  There is nothing Bryce loved more than breast. Women’s breasts, chicken breasts, he loved them almost equally.

  “Actually, I’m a bit peckish,” he admitted and bent to take off his shoes. He would have probably kept them on, and retained the vital two inches of height, if her carpet wasn’t a lush, thick cream or her doormat didn’t specifically say, ‘Shoes Off, Please’.

  Her place was banging, almost like a man’s crib with tons of high-tech electronic equipment. It was clear that she’d bought them for their performance and not their prettiness as most women do. She had an eighty-five inch Samsung HD TV that Bryce knew had set back more than he earned in a year, the Bowers & Wilkins Zeppelin Loudspeaker System for iPod that he wanted badly and Xbox One.

  I knew right away that Bryce was going to come back to her pad again, if only to enjoy her toys.

  “I’ve got full satellite subscription, if there’s anything you want to watch,” she said, pointing to the TV.

  “Thanks.” Bryce looked around with envy. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

  Lorna shrugged. “My parents left me the house when they moved back to Grenada. I’ve spent quite a bit on it over the last eighteen months and finally it’s coming together. I just need my snooker table now and I’m done.”

  Snooker table? Bryce would give a lung to have one he could play on whenever he wanted.

  “What do you do for a living?” He asked the question as though he thought she was a jewel thief or a hooker.

  “I’m a lawyer at Lovells,” she told him as she headed to the kitchen. “Have a look around while I put on the chicken breasts.”

  Bryce stood in shock where she’d left him. Working for the sixth biggest law firm in the UK? She was living his dream.

  He had left University College of London clutching his Upper Second degree in Law optimistically, but had soon realized that he had only just started the journey to being a lawyer. Things had gotten progressively tougher from then onwards. Last year he had given up in defeat and taken an administrative job with Lambeth Council after he had failed to get a training contract with any of the hundreds of law firms he had applied to.

  He heard the hiss as Lorna placed the chicken breasts onto a hot griddle or pan, and instantly the smell of herbs drifted into the room. Minutes later she came back into the room with a chilled bottle of champagne.

  “Don’t worry about getting drunk,” she told him. “I have a spare bedroom. Well, I have two, but I’m using one as a gym.”

  I admired Bryce for keeping his big mouth shut for once and not asking her how often she used it. At a glance I would say never, but then he hadn’t been to a gym lately himself and was becoming decidedly podgy. It would have been the classic pot calling the kettle black. He took the champagne and popped it with an almighty bang. It was the expensive stuff and he gave a sigh of appreciation when he took a sip.

  “Those breasts should need turning about now.” Lorna put her champagne flute down and hurried back to the kitchen.

  She stayed for a while and then returned with four large nicely-browned breasts on a silver platter and homemade potato salad. Like me, I know Bryce wondered if she had been expecting company later or if she had planned to eat them all by herself.

  She knew how to cook, though. Bryce had three pieces of the breasts and loaded his plate with potato salad. She had the other and a forkful of the salad.

  And typical Bryce, as soon as he finished eating he wanted sex. At least this time, mellow from the food and the champagne, he played Mr Loverman. Or maybe he had gained a new respect for her.

  She wasn’t nearly as big as her baggy top had suggested. Women always got that shit wrong—baggy clothes make big women look bigger but make skinny women look skinnier. I see it all the time, women trying to disguise or hide their bodies in clothing that make the flaws they want to cover more noticeable.

  As soon as he peeled off her bra I knew that Bryce was going to stay the whole night. She had the kind of nipples that he liked to fall asleep sucking on. When she went down on her knees in front of him, I was startled and furious when he pulled her back up. What the fuck was he thinking? The woman was going to give me some attention and he stopped her?

  But to my surprise, he lay back on the bed and let her climb on top of him for a 69—the chicken or the champagne had definitely gone to his head!

  Her pouty lips were as soft as her hands and soon she had me deep inside her mouth. If I could talk I would have asked her to marry me there and then. I was sorry when Bryce pulled me free and turned her over, until I remembered the tight, slippery warmth that I had occupied embarrassingly briefly earlier. I vowed to redeem myself this time.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars,” he warned as he spread her legs wide.

  He could confidently say that because he knew that I was primed for and ready for anything.

  “God, yes!” Instead of backing down, she spread even wider and wiggled her hips impatiently. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a man, I need you to fuck my brains out.”

  At any other time, her words might have dampened my spirit a tad—the men in London had to be stoned, crazy or gay to let prime pussy like this go to waste—instead her words made me harder.

  As soon as Bryce put the condom on me, I slid right into her like a warm knife through butter.

  Lorna bit her bottom lip but a stifled moan escaped her.

  “Damn girl, you fit me like a glove!” Bryce groaned and pulled all the way out to try the fit again.

  It felt just as good sliding in the second, third, fourth...hell, who had time to count?...time. Her pussy was like warm silk. Except silk isn’t greedy. Silk doesn’t grab on and hug you like a long-lost relative. Silk doesn’t feel l
ike it’s eating you, or make sexy sounds to let you know how much it’s enjoying swallowing you whole.

  I felt the cum gather and readied myself to shoot it so far up in her womb it would take a week or two to travel back down.

  “Let me loosen you a bit, babe.”

  I groaned as Bryce pulled out, moved slightly to the side and replaced me with two fingers.

  I was stunned for a minute. Why the hell was my man being so considerate? He usually doesn’t care if he has to tear up a pussy.

  What the fuck?

  “Give me a nipple,” he commanded as he squeezed another finger inside her.

  Ah! The penny finally dropped. This wasn’t Bryce being considerate about her. It was all about Bryce being considerate about Bryce. He had sensed that I was going to embarrass him with another quick ‘draw, aim and fire’, and had taken matters into his own hands.

  Lorna gave the nipple of her right breast a quick tug to harden the big juicy morsel further, cupped its weight and offered it to him like ambrosia to the gods.

  Bryce sucked it into his mouth like he was starving.

  “Oh, Bryce,” she moaned and started to move her hips in a frenzy.

  She came fast and hard. Poor woman had been on the boil since he had taken his satisfaction earlier and then pulled out and left her hanging.

  Knowing that he could now come when he wanted and with no disgrace, Bryce quickly climbed back on top of her.

  Her pussy was slippery with her juices but I had to fight past her contracting muscles. Bryce hooked his toes under the footboard and gained the upper hand in the fight.

  It was over in less than no time.

  “O fuck!” my man Bryce groaned as I made good on the promise to aim for the back of her womb.

  He collapsed his full weight onto Lorna like she was a down-filled mattress and lay there without a thought for her comfort.

  A skinny woman would have complained that he was squashing her and pushed his ass off. Instead Lorna cradled his head closer to her breasts and whispered, “Thank you.”

  I don’t think she was thanking him for his performance or the fact that he’d made her come. I sensed that she was grateful to have someone to wrap her arms around.