*a Sunshine and Chris story*
Chris and plus-sized OFC “Sunshine”
Chris watches on as his plus-sized girlfriend “Sunshine” packs her bags for a trip to Boston, and music leads to dancing
Warnings: Language, NSFW, provocative dancing, aggressive oral sex, plus size insecurities, adult situations, intercourse
Word Count 3089
“Are you finished packing?” I ask incredulously, feeling like a madwoman throwing things in my suitcase.
Chris lays on my bed, ankles crossed, wiggling his feet back and forth. Looking up from his phone, he says, “I just need my backpack. I have stuff back home in Boston.”
“Must be nice,” I say, pulling two sundresses, my favorite summer staple, from my closet.
“Good god, how many sundresses do you have?” he chuckles. He laughs harder as I rub my middle finger across my lips. His playfulness tugs at my heartstrings.
“I hate making sure all my soaps and lotions are just three ounces. It’s a pain in the ass.”
When Chris just stares at me quietly I realize our flight experiences have been vastly different. “You just throw everything in a bag and check your luggage, don’t you?”
“Well, yea,” he laughs, “depending on where I’m going. Don’t you?”
“Hell, no. That costs too much extra!”
“This trip doesn’t cost you extra so take whatever you want. Take a whole suitcase full of your favorite shoes for all I care. Besides, we’re flying private.”
Pulling out some of my favorite bra and panty sets, I toss them to him and he fingers the lace before throwing them in the bag. “Private? What? Why?” What the fuck would he do that for?
Wiggling uncomfortably now, a blush rides over Chris’s handsome face.
Dropping my voice, resting my hand on his tight denim-clad thigh, I inquire, “Christopher, what are you not telling me?”
“Well, I just hate the cramped feeling when I fly. I never have enough leg room,” he complains, stretching his legs out but avoiding looking at me.
“Christopher, you did not! I can fly commercial, it’s not a big deal, really.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, in jean shorts and a fashionably tattered t-shirt. Me. He’s worried about me being comfortable. “My fat ass can fit in the seat, you know!”
“It’s a beautiful ass, and I know you can. I just wanted us both to be comfortable; to enjoy our first travel trip together, quietly and alone,” he says with resign.
Shaking my head at him, I complain, “Babe, that’s too expensive, I’m fine with whatever airline you choose.”
“Sunshine, you know money is no problem. You may not know this, but I recently fired my interior designer. I got money to burn,” he chuckles. I smile at his nickname for me, loving that he says I bring warmth and happiness into his life.
I swat at his leg, knowing he won’t change his plan, and turn to pull a matching pajama set out of the drawer. A thought comes to me and I quickly say it out loud. “A private plane, hmmm? We could have some fun with that, now couldn’t we?”
“Are you talking about the mile high kinda fun?” he asks, his attention back on me and not his phone. His smile beams when I shake my head yes. “I like the way you think, babe,” he says with a grin.
He whistles when I bend over to pull a few t-shirts from a lower drawer and I shake my “beautiful” ass for him, slowly rising up in a silly dance move. He chuckles and the sound warms my heart. I love being so relaxed and goofy around him.
“You know we’re only staying a few days?”
Speech momentarily leaves me as I’m aware of his thoughtless movements. The wiggle of his legs is adorable, and something I’ve become accustomed to watching him do in various manners during meetings on his house design, or times we watched movies if I stayed late after working. But the way he absently raises his t-shirt to scratch his belly, twirling his fingers in his own hairs, catching a glimpse of the Bardsley tat? It’s too damn much…
“You’re really cute, you know that?” I smile and he pauses mid scratch to look at me, smiling too. He blinks away the compliment slowly with his boyish charm and my heart melts. He pulls his t-shirt back down and continues scrolling on his phone. I still can’t believe he wants to take me home to Boston. We haven’t even been dating that long. “I know we’re only staying a few days, but we’re staying at your mom’s house. I need clothes and I want to have a choice. Now, if you were taking me to a beach somewhere, I’d just throw in some shorts and t-shirts, a few swimsuits and we’d be done.”
“Got any bikinis? I’d like that,” he replies with a smirk, looking up at me. “Siri, search ‘beach vacation destinations.’”
Laughing, I roll the t-shirts and add them to my suitcase. He’s fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right? “Really, honey? A bikini?”
Chris puts his phone down and rolls around on the bed, rising up on his knees, sitting near the head board. He rests his hands on his thick thighs, and for a brief moment, I lose all thought. The way his arms are placed, in the lamplight, I can see the tiny hairs on his arms and his freckles. “Fuck yea! I’d die to see that perfect peach- shaped ass in one.”
I stare at him, somewhat in shock. He stares back and the determination on his face shows he’s having none of this bout of insecurity.
“We’ll go shopping; find you something in a classic style like you wear. Very 1950s, my own pin-up girl?”
I move to the bed and lean into him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “Sweet man; thank you.” Holy shit, I think this man is totally blinded by love and I totally fall harder for him because of it. “I’m not as confident as you think I am, but I hide it well. You know that by now. But I love that idea!”
“Baby, you are beautiful to me. Lovely face, sweet smile, legs that go on for days, ass and tits. I love the way you look. I can’t say it to you enough to get it into your head.” He gently tugs my hair, massaging my scalp as I kneel on the bed next to him. “If you don’t show off at the beach, how is the fourteen-year-old hiding under her size three X t-shirt ever gonna learn to be comfortable in her own body? You have style and class, and you can be a great role model for someone else.”
His face glows with the praise he is lavishing on me and my heart weakens. This man, with his cute smirk and wiggly legs, is all I’ve ever wanted.
“God, you’re amazing. How are you even real?” I question him, rising and crossing the room to finish packing.
He just smiles, shrugging his shoulders at the rhetorical question and continues, “Aren’t you about finished? What secret features does this room have?” Curiously, he looks around my small retreat.
I clap my hands and the lights dim. He leans back in laughter at such a stereotypical “dude” feature to my room. A quiet command in Spanish and music begins to play from the speakers hidden behind the headboard, the sounds of “American Woman” by Lenny Kravitz filling the room.
“Perfect! I love it!” he chuckles, moving to place the suitcase on the floor, a light twinkle in his eye as he turns back to me. “Those were some good moves a few minutes ago. Why don’t you show me what you got?” He gently rocks to the smooth seductive beat.
“What? Dance? Me?’ I ask, terrified he’s being serious.
“A striptease,” he taunts me.
“Oh, God, Christopher, I may have confidence, but I have no rhythm,” I inform him, shaking my head and backing away from him, throwing a sweatshirt onto the pile of clothes in the suitcase by the bed.
“Aw, Sunshine, it’s easy, just sway your hips a little bit like this.” I watch as he begins to advance towards me in his tight jeans and ab hugging t-shirt, moving in time to the music. Raising his hands above his head, he snaps his fingers with the beat. The look in his eye, purely predatory. I shake my head and giggle. “Lose yourself in the music… When you dance, dance for you, like I’m not even here.”
Reaching me, he brings his arms over and behind my head, pulling me close to him without touching me, continuing to bounce to the music. His hips sway side to side, and with each third beat of the song, he thrusts forward against my thighs. With each tap, I can feel him growing harder beneath his restrictive clothing. Watching from the corner of my eyes, the muscles in his arms flex and release and the sound of his snapping fingers echo in my ears. “Fuck,” I whisper. He raises his eyebrows and grunts, matching the song forever now burned in my brain.
He drags his fingertips down the back of my arms, sending shivers along my spine as goosebumps form, and takes my hands. His hips still sway against me in their hypnotizing pattern… Entwining our fingers, Chris raises our hands slowly out to my sides. He pulls me to him and my full breasts push against his solid chest, my nipples growing hard under the friction. He brings my arms behind his head and slides his strong hands to my face, drawing me to him for a forceful kiss before roughly massaging his hands down to my hips, my flesh rolling under his grip. With his hands planted firmly on my curved waistline, my arms wrapped around his neck, Chris guides me to grind against him with the beat of the music. His eyes are darkened with lust and never leave mine.
I’m hot and my mouth feels dry; I flick my tongue out to wet my lips and swallow slowly. I’ve never been seduced like this before and I’m heady with his attentions. My breath catches and my eyes close as I move against him, lost in him and the music. “Open your eyes,” he growls, pushing me into the dresser, never missing a beat of the song. His hands run up my sides and he squeezes my full tits, his thumbs brushing against my aching peaks. Still connected at the waist, he leans away from me and quickly moves his arms behind his head, grabbing at the neckline of his shirt and pulling it over his head, rolling his torso back up against me as he drops it on the floor.
“Your turn,” he moans against my neck, biting roughly as the song fades out, leaving me with a quick, wet kiss against my hot skin as he shimmies in time to the music back over to rest on the edge of the bed.
“Can I pick the song?” I choke the words trying to buy time as I take in my surroundings, mesmerized by his physique and his daring prowess as a dancer.
He shakes his head ‘no.’ “Whatever’s next…”
I glare at him, praying shuffle is good to me. I hide my relief as “Good for You” by Selena Gomez begins, the light of dusk filtering in, shades of purples and oranges from the sunset reflected on the white walls. I take a deep breath and draw myself up as tall as I can, wrapping my confident persona around me like a blanket. Fuck this; I’ll show him.
I match his instruction, swaying my hips to the music, circling in a seductive figure eight. Running my hands up my sides, I cup my breasts and run my fingers under my hair. I lift it up, shaking it out, quietly singing the line, “do my hair up real nice,” not trusting my own voice. “Syncopate my skin to your heart beating,” I pat above my full breasts, mimicking our beating hearts. The last golden rays of sunlight beat across his chest and I’m distracted by his beauty. Even across the room, I can see his eyes are still dark and his erection threatens to break through his pants. I close my eyes and turn my back to him, following the beat of the song. He can watch me in the mirror over the dresser, but my figure blocks out his reflection.
Raising my arms above my head, I snap my fingers like in the song; just like he had moments before. The sway of my hips are involuntary now, I don’t have to think about their motion. I take a deep sigh, running my hands down the valley between my breasts, reaching my waist. My fingertips graze the exposed skin caused by my movements and I’m aware of my peaked interest in the sex to come. Dropping my hands to unbutton my cut off shorts, I slide them slowly down my legs, pausing momentarily under the curvature of my ass, allowing him time to admire. I gently step out of them and kick them aside, resting my hands on the edge of the dresser and slowly roll my body back up to the musical rhythm beating inside me. The sharp intake of his breath can be heard above the music and my pounding heart.
As I turn to him, singing “how proud I am to be yours,” I pull the edge of my t-shirt up over my head and lock eyes with his, black with desire, his hands fisted on his knees, the veins in his muscular arms prominent from the strain he holds as he watches me. I slide the shirt gently down my arms and toss it on top of my pants. Dancing for my man in my green lace underwear and watching him disintegrate before me brings me to a higher sensuality than I’ve ever known. Chris’s chest rises and falls with his quick breaths and his jaw clenches. The predatory watch has returned to him and he is ready to attack. Rubbing my hands over my full figure, my confidence grows as the lust on his face shines in the dimming daylight. I lose myself in my movements, just as he directed, and I smile as he undoes his belt buckle, unable to restrain himself any longer, slowly pulling it from the loops of his lung slung jeans.
My hands glide lower, leaning forward slightly, and run smoothly down my thighs. He licks his plump bottom lip as my fingers trace the edge of my panties and he tugs open his button-fly. I dance across the room towards him and move his hands away. “Baby let me be good to you,” I sing, the heat in my eyes matching his as I place my hands on his thighs, kneading them under my fingers, continuing to sway to the music. Pushing forward, my breasts graze his chiseled chest, my lacey ass on display for him in the mirror, as my lips hover next to his, “Let me show you how proud I am to be yours.”
Dropping to an open crouch between his legs, my tits brush against his covered cock, straining to be freed. Green lace wedges between my folds and becomes wet with my proof. As I free him from his Calvins, his purple head throbs, begging to be placed in my mouth. I lick the tip, savoring the salty precum before wrapping my tongue around him and pulling him into my heated hole. He hisses and I can feel the muscles in his legs tighten. I give him an extra pump with my hand for good measure as my other hand trails along my inner thigh, heightening my own desire. He moans his approval, watching down on me as I pull him in deeper. His lightly calloused hands roughly wind through my hair and with one hand, he forces me further down his firm shaft. Holding me in place, as the song ends and faintly moves to another, he rises his tapered hips from the bed and rams into my throat. He pulls back, short of gagging me and advances again, thrusting a few times before letting me lose.
He pulls me up to a standing position, rising himself. Standing nearly nose to nose, he wildly fucks me with his eyes while he quickly removes his jeans. Sweeping me into his robust arms, he throws me to the center of the bed. “Fuckin’ love that, baby,” I say as he pulls my ankles back to him, telling me to roll over.
“I know,” he growls, “and I love this,” he says as he grasps my underwear on each side of my stout hips and pulls it down. I slide back onto my knees and lift my feet as he yanks off the offending material. His hands caress over my full back side as he pushes me forward to rest on my elbows, ass up in the air on the edge of the bed just for him. Wait for it… I know it’s coming. There it is! I smile to myself as Chris’s lips meet my ass cheek, kissing the tat of a four-leaf clover, circled by the words ‘You got LUCKY!’ His tongue lingering for just a moment of sweetness. He grunts as the condom settles into place and with no other pretense, he slides in between my wet, waiting pink lips.
“Yes, baby, fuck me,” I beg. “I need you.”
His forceful push moves me across the bed, and he reaches to pull my thighs back towards him as my tits drag across the bed. The expensive linens are rough against my delicate tips and I relish the slight tinge of pain. “So fuckin tight; I am lucky,” he moans. He sinks in until my ass is pressed against his thighs. My walls stretch around him, warm and welcoming, gently squeezing his sex.
“I wanna hear that moan you make when something feels good,” he confesses as he pushes in again.
I abide to his request and don’t hold back my sounds any longer. Sorry, bitchy neighbor. Be jealous I’m getting some. And it’s so damn good… My thoughts fade out as Christopher continues his powerful thrusts, bringing us closer to our end. He reciprocates the same noises as our bodies move together as one, knocking the damn decorator pillows to the floor.
“I really fuckin’ hate those things,” he grumbles against my ear with one final drive, pushing to his completion before rolling me over to continue our fun.
Click here for “Bringing Sunshine to Boston”
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